UC-NRLF 


ma 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO:  THE 

DEACON'S  HAT:    WELSH  HONEYMOON 


THREE  WELSH 
PLAYS  • 

THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 
THE  DEACON'S  HAT 
WELSH  HONEYMOON 


JEANNETTE  MARKS 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1917 


Copyright,  ip/2, 1916, 1917, 
BY  JEANNETTE  MARKS. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published,  February,  1917 


The  professional  and  amateur  stage  rights  of  these  plays  are  strictly 
reserved  by  the  author.  Application  for  permission  to  produce  the  plays 
should  be  made  to  the  author,  who  may  be  addressed  in  care  of  the 
publishers. 


SET  UP  AND  ELECTROTYPED  BY  THE  PLIMPTON  PRESS,  NORWOOD,  MASS.,  U.S.A 
PRINTED  BY  S.   J.  PARKHILL  &  CO.  BOSTON  MASS.,  U.S.A. 


THESE    THREE    PLAYS 
ARE    DEDICATED    TO 

THE  WELSH  NATIONAL  THEATRE 

Calon  wrtb  Galon 


PREFACE 

F)OETRY"  and  "song"  are  words  which  convey, 
JL  better  than  any  other  two  words  could,  the  price 
less  gifts  of  the  Welsh  people  to  the  world.  With  their 
love  for  music,  for  beauty,  for  the  significance  of  their 
land  and  its  folklore,  then*  inherent  romance  in  the 
difficult  art  of  living,  they  have  transformed  ugliness 
into  beauty,  turned  loneliness  into  speech,  and  ever 
recalled  life  to  its  only  permanent  possessions  in  won 
der  and  romance. 

Curiously  enough,  the  Welsh,  rich  in  poetry  and  in 
music,  have  been  almost  altogether  devoid  of  plays. 
But  no  one  who  has  read  those  first  Welsh  tales  in  the 
"Mabinogion"  (c.  1260)  could  for  an  instant  think  the 
Cymru  devoid  of  the  dramatic  instinct.  The  Welsh 
way  of  interpreting  experience  is  essentially  dramatic. 
The  Dream  of  Maxen  Wledig,  The  Dream  of  Rhonabwy, 
both  from  the  "Mabinogion,"  are  sharply  dramatic, 
although  then  and  later  Welsh  literature  remained 
practically  devoid  of  the  play  form.  Experience 
dramatized  is,  too,  that  Pilgrim's  Progress  of  Gwalia: 
"YBarddCwsg"(1703). 

Every  gift  of  the  Welsh  would  seem  to  promise  the 
realization  some  day  of  a  great  national  drama,  for 
they  have  not  only  the  gift  of  poetry  and  the  power  to 
seize  the  symbol  —  short  cut  through  experience  — 


viii  PREFACE 


which  can,  even  as  the  crutch  of  Ibsen's  little  Eyolf, 
lift  a  play  into  greatness;  they  have,  also,  natures 
profoundly  emotional  and  yet  intellectually  critical. 
They  are,  humanly  speaking,  perfect  tools  for  the 
achievement  of  great  drama.  But  it  is  a  drab  jour 
ney  from  those  "Mabinogion"  days  of  wonder,  coarse 
and  crude  as  they  were  in  many  ways,  yet  intensely 
vital,  through  the  "Bardd  Cwsg"  to  Twm  o'r  Nant 
(1739-1810)  the  so-called  "Welsh  Shakespeare,"  whose 
Interludes  might,  with  sufficient  worrying,  afford 
delectation  to  the  rock-ribbed  Puritanism  which  has 
stood,  as  much  as  any  other  oppression,  in  the  way  of 
Gwalia's  full  development  of  her  genius  for  beauty. 

It  was,  then,  a  significant  moment  when  "The 
Welsh  National  Theatre"  came  into  existence  with  so 
powerful  a  patron  as  Lord  Howard  de  Walden,  lessee 
of  the  Haymarket,  and  Owen  Rhoscomyl  (Captain 
Owen  Vaughan)  and  other  gifted  Welsh  literati  for  its 
sponsors.  And  it  did  not  seem  an  insignificant  moment 
to  one  person  when  the  playwright  of  The  Merry  Merry 
Cuckoo  and  Welsh  Honeymoon  learned  through  her 
friendly  agent,  Curtis  Brown  of  London,  that  she  had 
received  one  of  the  Welsh  National  Theatre's  first 
prizes  (1911). 

These  plays  have  been  given  in  many  places:  The 
Little  Theatre  in  Minneapolis,  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre 
in  New  York,  the  Toy  Theatre  in  Boston,  and  by  vari 
ous  branches  of  the  American  Drama  Society,  whose 
President,  Charlotte  Porter,  and  Vice  President,  Mrs. 
Marks  (Josephine  Preston  Peabody),  have  been  warm 
friends  to  my  Welsh  plays.  They  have  been  pre 
sented  in  several  colleges  and  by  various  clubs  and 


PREFACE  ix 


are  in  demand  among  Schools  of  Expression  and  in 
college  classrooms.  The  author  has  read  them  before 
clubs  and  societies.  Enthusiasm  for  The  Merry 
Merry  Cuckoo  led  Luther  B.  Anthony,  Editor  of  the 
Dramatist,  to  reprint  it  in  his  original  and  widely 
known  magazine.  Two  of  the  plays  have  appeared 
elsewhere,  The  Merry  Merry  Cuckoo  in  the  Metropolitan 
and  Welsh  Honeymoon  in  Smart  Set.  Acknowledg 
ment  would  not  be  complete  without  reference  to 
one  whose  unfailing  appreciation,  also,  for  The  Merry 
Merry  Cuckoo  has  been  a  constant  inspiration  —  Doctor 
Richard  Burton,  Ex-President  of  the  Drama  League  of 
America. 

JEANNETTE  MARKS 

ATTIC  PEACE 

SOUTH  HADLEY,  MASSACHUSETTS. 

November  2^  1916. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE vii 

THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 1 

THE  DEACON'S  HAT 25 

WELSH  HONEYMOON  .  65 


PRONUNCIATION  OF  WELSH  NAMES 

1   ch  has,  roughly,  the  same  sound  as  in  German  or  in 

the  Scotch  loch. 
%  dd  =  English  th,  roughly,  in  brea^e. 

3  e  has,  roughly,  the  sound  of  ai  in  dairy. 

4  /=  English  v. 

5  ff=  English  sharp  /. 

6  II  represents  a  sound  intermediate  between  the  and./?. 

7  w  as  a  consonant  is  pronounced  as  in  English;    as 

a  vowel  =  00. 

8  y  is  sometimes  like  u  in  bwt,  sometimes  like  ee  in 

green. 

NOTE:  The  author  will  gladly  answer  questions  about  pronunciation, 
costuming,  etc.,  etc. 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 


CHARACTERS 

ANNIE,  the  wife  of  David. 

DAVID. 

LOWRY  PRICHARD  1 

GUTOPRICHAED       | 

MORRIS,  a  young  minister. 


ACT  I 

A  garden.  Cottage  at  back  running  from  right  to  center. 
A  group  of  three  windows  in  the  shape  of  a  bay,  showing 
a  bed  inside  and  an  old  man  lying  on  it.  A  door  leads 
into  cottage.  A  gate  in  fence  on  the  right  side  leads  to  the 
road  and  village  beyond.  All  of  the  left  side  of  stage  a 
garden  and  orchard,  iirith  a  path  through  it  to  a  gate  in 
wall  at  back;  garden  wall  to  left,  at  back  over  it  village 
chapel  from  which  the  church  music  comes. 

A  thatched  cottage  with  whitewashed  walls.  Ivy  is 
growing  about  the  doorway,  and  hanging  from  the  thatch 
above  the  door;  fuchsia  bushes  on  either  side  of  door; 
trees  to  the  left  in  garden,  including  holly  and  yew;  green 
grass;  mountains  beyond  cottage  and  garden  and  chapel. 
In  the  foreground,  to  right  by  cottage  door,  is  a  ivashtub. 

It  is  about  six  o'clock,  the  first  Monday  in  April.  To 
wards  end  of  act  the  sun  sets. 

At  rise  of  curtain,  windows  of  the  cottage  closed,  and 
Annie,  old,  very  plump,  with  sparse  gray  hair  escaping 
from  under  her  white  cap  and  damp  on  her  forehead  from 
work,  and  wearing  a  short  skirt,  apron,  fichu  over  shoulders, 
clogs  on  her  feet,  is  washing.  Church  music  off  left  con 
tinues  a  minute  after  rise  of  curtain.  David  calls  out. 
Annie  leaves  the  tub  and  hurries  to  the  windows  to  open 
them  from  the  outside.  David,  a  very  old  man,  with 
white  hair  and  thin  face,  is  seen  lying  in  bed. 
DAVID  (calling) 

Annie,  Annie! 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 


ANNIE  (opening  windows) 

Aye,  lad  dear,  I  was  listenin'  for  ye;  yiss,  yiss,  an' 
expectin'  ye  to  call. 

DAVID  (sleepily) 

I  was  dreamin'  an*  —  dear,  dear,  what  a  dream !  It 
seemed  like  fifty  years  ago  when  we  were  married, 
an',  you  remember,  we  stood  out  there  in  the  garden 
that  first  night.  Are  there  any  violets  bloomin'  yet? 

ANNIE 

Not  yet,  Davy  lad. 
DAVID 

An*  the  marsh  marigolds? 
ANNIE 

I'm  thinkin'  they're  sure  to  be  out. 
DAVID 

An*  that  same  night,  Annie,  do  ye  remember  we 

heard  the  cuckoo  singin'? 
ANNIE 

Aye,  lad  darlin',  fifty  years  ago  this  comin'  week, 

an'  a  cuckoo  singin'  to  us  every  spring  since  then. 

(Annie  takes  a  tumbler  from  the  sill  and  gives  him  a 

spoonful  of  medicine)    Take  this,  dear;   there,  'twill 

be  makin'  ye  better. 
DAVID  (taking  medicine) 

An'  well? 

ANNIE 

Yiss,  yiss,  better. 
DAVID 

But  the  cuckoo,  will  the  cuckoo  be  singin'  soon? 
ANNIE  (words  inconclusive) 

Lad,  dear,  no  more,  or  ye'll  be  havin'  an  attack  an'  — 

Dear  people,  chapel  is  out,  an'  I  hear  them  on  the  road ! 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO     7 

DAVID  (plaintively) 

The  Monday  meetin'.    Why  have  ye  not  been? 

ANNIE 

Work  is  keepin'  me  home,  lad. 

DAVID 

But,  Annie,  ye've  not  said  a  word  of  the  cuckoo. 

ANNIE  (sending  her  voice  up  as  cheerfully  as  she  can) 
Aye,  the  cuckoo;  yiss,  the  cuckoo  — 

DAVID  (clasping  and  unclasping  his  hands) 
Has  it  come?    Did  ye  hear  it? 

ANNIE  (gulping) 

David,  dear,  if  ye'd  but  listen  to  what  I  was  a-goin* 
to  say.  I  was  a-goin'  to  say  that  I've  not  heard  the 
cuckoo  yet,  but  that  everything  over-early  this 
spring  in  Wales,  an'  I'm  expectin'  to  hear  one  any 
time  now.  'Tis  so  warm  there  might  be  one  singin' 
at  dusk  to-day  —  there  might  be! 

DAVID  (brightening) 

Might  there  be,  Annie? 

ANNIE  (smoothing  his  head  with  her  hand) 

Aye,  lad.    Hush,  lad,  they're  singin'  in  the  chapel ! 
l^She  stands  there  with  one  hand  resting  on  his  forehead, 
listening  to  the  singing  of  Penlan,  a  hymn  by  David 
Jenkins.    When  the  music  stops,  she  moves  away. 

DAVID 

Tis  over-early,  an',  Annie  — 
ANNIE 

Davy  dear,  be  still !  Pastor  Morris  says  —  Tut,  tut, 
I'll  close  the  window,  for  there  comes  that  Lowry 
Prichard  and  her  man. 

^Annie  closes  windows  hastily  and  goes  back  to  her 
washing.  Enter  from  right  Lowry  and  her  husband 


8     THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

Guto,  coming  from  the  Monday  prayer  meeting  and 
carrying  hymnals.  Lowry  dressed  in  Welsh  costumet 
dogs,  short  full  skirt,  striped  apron,  white  sleeves  from 
elbow  to  wrist,  tight  bodice,  shawl  over  her  shoulders, 
white  cap,  and  tall,  Welsh  beaver  hat.  Guto,  Welsh 
beaver  hat  on  like  his  wife's,  striped  vest,  brass  buttons 
on  lapels  of  black  cloth  coat,  long,  somewhat  tight 
trousers.  At  sight  of  washtub  and  Annie  busy  over  it, 
Lowry  and  Guto  make  gestures  of  shocked  dismay  to 
each  other. 

LOWRY 

Good  evenin',  Annie  Dalben. 

ANNIE  (wiping  her  wet  hand  on  her  apron) 

Good  evenin',  Lowry  Prichard,  an'  to  you,  Guto. 

GUTO 

Good  evenin',  mum. 

LOWRY 

How  is  your  man? 

ANNIE 

He's  no  better. 
LOWRY 

Is  he  worse? 

ANNIE 

Nay. 

LOWRY 

We  missed  ye,  Annie  Dalben. 
GUTO 

Aye,  we  did.    Why  were  ye  not  at  meetin'? 
ANNIE 

I've  my  man  to  mind  these  days. 
LOWRY  (triumphantly) 

But  ye  said  he  was  no  worse,  ye  did. 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO     9 

ANNIE 

Aye,  I  did,  but  I  cannot  leave  him  alone. 
GUTO 

But  ye're  neglectin'  chapel  an'  forgettin'  the  Lord, 
Annie  Dalben.  Ye'll  go  quite  on  the  downfall,  like 
this. 

LOWRY 

Aye,  ye've  not  been  to  meetings,  an'  'tis  bad  when     / 
he's  dyin'  for  ye  to  forget  your  Lord.    Is  he  in  there?   / 
ANNIE  (moving  protectingly  nearer  the  closed  window) 

lYiss. 

LOWRY 

Why  were  ye  washin'? 

ANNIE 

Ye've  no  cause  to  ask  that  —  ye  know.  Except  I 
did  the  washin',  what  would  there  be  for  me  to  care 
for  David  with  —  now  that  he  needs  me? 

GUTO 

Yiss,  but  ye  could  do  it  on  some  other  day. 
ANNIE 

Nay,  for  the  ladies  are  waitin'  now  for  what  they've 

given  me  to  do  —  an'  they  so  kind. 
LOWRY 

I  see  Pastor  Morris  comin'  in. 
ANNIE 

Aye,  he's  comin'  every  day  an'  some  days  bringin' 

me  the  food  from  his  own  table  for  my  man. 

\_Enter    Pastor    Morris,    young,    earnest    and    rather 

severe  because  of  his  youth. 
LOWRY  (the  inquisitional  look  on  her  face    deepening, 

and  her  voice  growing  more  shrill,  pointing  to  Annie) 

Ye  see,  sir,  what  Annie  Dalben's  been  doin'  while 


10    THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

we  were  in  meetin.'  She's  needin'  a  sermon,  aye, 
that  she  is. 

GUTO 

She's  goin'  quite  on  the  downfall,  sir. 

ANNIE 

Lowry  Prichard,  ye've  no  cause  to  speak  so  about 
me.  When  was  I  ever  absent  when  my  man  was 
well?  But  now,  sir,  (turning  to  Morris)  as  ye  know, 
he's  ill  an'  needin'  me  an'  all  the  s'illin's  I  can  earn. 
I  cannot  go  away  from  him. 

LOWRY  (speaking  to  Pastor  Morris) 

She's  needin'  your  advice,  sir.  'Tis  that  she  is 
needin'  whatever.  Warn  her  well. 

GUTO 

Yiss,  an'  rebuke  her. 
LOWRY 

Ye're  young,  sir,  but  ye're  the  instrument  of  the 
Lord  whatever.  'Tis  your  duty  to  bring  her  back 
to  her  conscience. 

GUTO 

Amen. 

\_Lowry  and  Guto  go  off  very  self-righteous  and  looking 
triumphantly  at  Annie,  who,  quiet,  her  face  pale  and 
weary,  turns  to  her  washing  and  rubs  and  rinses  dili 
gently  while  the  minister  is  talking. 
MORRIS  (gently) 

I've  been  troubled,  for  I  knew  that  it  would  come 
to  this,  Annie.  I  should  have  spoken  with  you 
before  about  going  to  chapel.  Some  one  could  be 
found  to  stay  with  David  while  you  were  at  meet 
ing.  You  have  not  been  to  chapel  for  a  month, 
Annie. 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO    11 

ANNIE  (continuing  her  work  but  in  her  voice  the  attitude 
of  the  older  woman  towards  the  young  man) 
Ye're  very  kind,  sir,  to  take  the  interest,  but  I'm 
thinkin'  ye  cannot  understand.  There's  been  no 
occasion,  sir,  for  ye  to  understand  through  what 
I've  been  goin'  these  days. 

[.She  rubs  her  sleeve  across  her  tear-filled  eyes  and  con- 
I      tinues  washing  sturdily. 

J^  MORRIS 

Yes,  but,  Annie,  what  is  David  thinking?  Does  he 
want  you  to  stay  away  from  the  meetings  where  you 
have  always  been  together? 

ANNIE 

Nay,  sir. 

MORRIS 

Has  he  spoken  of  your  staying  away? 

ANNIE  (reluctantly) 

Aye,  sir,  he  asked  this  evenin'  why  I  was  not  in 
meetin'. 
NJL%  MORRIS  (reflectively) 

He  did.    Well,  I  am  thinking  that  — 

ANNIE  (dropping  her  work  and  speaking  as  if  worried) 
Nay,  sir,  I've  no  cause  to  excuse  myself  to  ye  —  ye're 
naught  but  a  lad.  'Tis  past  your  knowledge  how  my 
man  is  everythin'  to  me  —  everythin',  he  is.  He's 
been  such  a  husband  as  no  one  but  myself  can  know, 
thinkin'  of  me  all  the  time,  livin'  for  me,  as  gentle 
an'  tender  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  child,  an'  now,  sir, 
he's  ill  —  he  may  be  dyin',  an'  I  can  think  of  nothin' 
but  doin'  everythin'  for  —  (David  taps  on  window 
and  Annie  turns  to  open  it)  Aye,  lad  dear.  'Tis  the 
Pastor  comin'  to  see  ye  again. 


12    THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

DAVID  (smiling  and  holding  out  one  weak  old  hand) 
Good  evenin',  sir,  such  a  grand  day,  with  spring 
everywhere.  We've  been  expectin'  the  cuckoo,  sir 
—  the  wife  and  I.  Have  ye  heard  the  cuckoo,  yet, 
Annie? 

MORRIS  (starting  to  speak) 
Twill  be  a  fortnight  be— 

ANNIE  (interrupting  hurriedly) 

Nay,  lad  dear,  I've  been  busy,  but  I'm  thinkin'  I'm 
likely  to  hear  it  now  any  moment  —  aye,  any  mo 
ment. 

MORRIS 

But,  Annie,  the  cuckoo  doesn't  — 

ANNIE 

Tut,  sir,  I  could  almost  promise  the  cuckoo  would 
be  singin'  at  sundown  whatever  —  aye,  indeed,  lad 
darlin'.  Now  I'll  — 

DAVID  (interrupting) 

Annie,  ye  mind  that  baby  cuckoo  we  saw  the  sky 
lark  a-feedin'  that  first  spring  in  Blaen  Cwm?  It 
all  comes  back  so  clear  now  an'  clearer  every  moment. 
I'd  not  once  thought  of  it,  sir,  since  then. 

MORRIS 

But,  David,  the  — 

ANNIE  (speaking  to  David  and  closing  the  windows) 
Lie  down,  lad  darlin',  an'  be  quiet.     I'll  call  ye,  if 
the  cuckoo  sings. 

C/n  the  distance  the  choir  can  be  heard  practising  Cariad, 
a  revival  hymn,  in  the  chapel.  Continues  until  Annie 
is  alone  and  talking  to  herself. 

MORRIS  (severely) 

But,  Annie,  you  know  the  cuckoo  will  not  sing  at 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO    13 

least  for  another  fortnight.     It  is  mid-April  before 

the  cuckoo  sings. 
ANNIE  (wearily) 

Aye,  sir. 
MORRIS 

Why  did  you  say  that  to  David? 

ANNIE 

He's  achin',  sir,  to  hear  the  cuckoo  sing,  an'  I'm 

wantin'  to  comfort  him. 
MORRIS 

But,  Annie,  it  is  a  lie  to  say  what  you  did  to  him. 
ANNIE  (vigorously) 

Aye,  sir,  but  I'm  not  carin'  whatever. 
MORRIS  (severely) 

Not  caring  about  telling  a  lie? 

ANNIE 

Nay,  sir,  I'm  not  carin'  about  anythin'  but  makin' 
him  happy. 

MORRIS  (rebukingly) 

Annie!  (Annie  continues  washing  and  does  not  reply) 
Annie!  Well,  indeed,  Annie,  if  there  is  nothing  I 
can  do  for  you,  and  you  will  not  listen  to  me,  I  must 
be  going  to  choir  practice.  I  promised  to  be  there 
this  evening. 

ANNIE  (without  turning  from  the  tub) 

Aye,  sir.  (Pastor  Morris  off  through  garden  path  to 
choir  practice.  Goes  to  left.  Annie  continues  washing 
until  he  is  well  out  of  sight.  She  stands  up  straight 
and  looks  about  the  garden)  He's  wantin'  to  hear  the 
cuckoo  more  nor  anythin'  else,  dear,  dear!  Every 
where  'tis  green  now,  an'  the  lilies  will  be  here  before 


14    THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

long  —  but  lad,  lad,  the  cuckoo,  will  it  come?  (She 
goes  to  left  into  garden,  the  wet  clothes  in  a  basket  under 
her  arm,  and  stands  there,  looking  about)  'Twas  over 
there  it  laid  its  egg  in  the  robin's  nest  this  year  ago 
in  May  —  aye,  an'  one  poor  little  bird  pushed  the 
other  out,  an'  ye  picked  it  up,  lad  dear,  an'  were  so 
tender  with  it.  An'  they're  not  wantin'  ye,  Davy, 
my  old  lad  darlin',  to  think  the  cuckoo  will  be  singin' 
soon.  Dear  God,  is  there  to  be  no  cuckoo  singin' 
for  the  lad  again?  Just  once  more,  dear  God,  to 
sing  to  him  and  comfort  him?  Aye!  just  the  one 
song?  No  cuckoo?  Aye,  there  will  be  a  cuckoo 
singin',  there  shall  be  a  cuckoo  singin'!  (She  looks 
towards  the  closed  windows  behind  which  David  lies, 
and  puts  down  her  basket  of  clothes)  He's  asleep! 
Hush,  I'll  be  the  cuckoo!  He'll  wake  an'  think  the 
spring  has  really  come.  Here  by  this  tree.  They're 
in  the  chapel,  an'  they'll  never  know.  (Throughout 
this  scene,  until  Lowry  speaks,  a  cuckoo  song  is  being 
played  very  softly.  And  it  is  into  a  few  notes  of  this, 
several  times  repeated,  that  Annie  swings  when  she 
actually  sings  her  cuckoo  song.  She  opens  her  mouth 
to  begin,  a  look  of  appealing  misery  on  her  face)  'Twas 
somethin'  like  this :  Coo-o.  Coo-o!  Tut,  that  sounds 
like  a  hen.  I  know,  it  goes  over  an'  over  again,  sing 
song,  sing-song,  like  this:  cu-cu,  cu-cu.  Aye,  that's 
better.  (She  rocks  herself  backwards  and  forwards 
practising  it  and  repeating  cu-cu,  cu-cu)  'Tis  growin' 
better,  but  lad,  lad,  I'm  plannin'  to  deceive  ye  what 
ever!  (Brushes  tears  away  impatiently  and  begins 
song  again)  Cucu-cu,  cucu-cu,  cucucu-cu,  cul  Aye, 
that's  fair;  aye,  'tis  fine!  He'll  not  know  me  from  a 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO    15 

real  cuckoo.  I'll  try  it  loud  now,  for  ye've  no  long, 
dearie. 

[_She  holds  eagerly  an  to  tree  beside  her,  so  lost  in  the 
cuckoo  music  that  she  is  not  aware  of  a  head  popping 
up  behind  the  garden  wall  and  down  again.  She  draws 
a  long  breath  and  begins,  softly,  slowly,  the  song  sound 
ing  as  if  it  came  from  a  distance.  She  waits  a  moment, 

—  the  heads  are  well  above  the  icall  now  in  amazement, 

—  and  then  sings  more  loudly,  making  the  song  sound 
as  if  it  came  from  the  garden  where  she  is  standing. 

DAVID  (calling) 
Annie ! 

ANNIE  (hurrying  to  open  his  windows) 
Aye,  lad  dear,  I'm  comin'. 

DAVID  (ecstatically) 

Annie,  Annie,  dear,  I  heard  the  cuckoo  singin';  I 
was  dreamin'  again,  an'  all  at  once  I  heard  the  cuckoo 
singin*  in  the  garden,  loud  and  clear.  It  sang  three 
times;  first,  it  sounded  like  somethin*  else,  'twas  so 
breathless;  then  it  sang  quiet  an*  sweet  like  a  cuckoo; 
an*  the  third  time  it  seemed  comin'  from  the  old 
mill  wheel. 

ANNIE 

But,  lad  darlin',  ye've  heard  it,  an'  I'm  that  glad! 

Three  times;  yiss,  yiss,  'tis  a  real  fine  cuckoo.    Now 

ye're  happy,  darlin',  an'  ye'll  sleep  well  upon  it. 
DAVID  (disappointedly) 

Did  ye  no  hear  it? 
ANNIE 

I'm  thinkin'  I  did  an'  thinkin'  I  didn't. 
DAVID 

Where  were  ye? 


16    THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

ANNIE 

Out  in  the  garden,  hangin'  out  the  clothes. 
DAVID  (still  more  disappointedly) 
An'  ye  didn't  hear  it? 

ANNIE 

I'm  no  certain,  darlin';   I  heard  somethin*  —  I  did, 
indeed. 
DAVID  (proudly) 

'Twas  the  cuckoo,  Annie  dear;  I'm  hearin'  it  first 
every  year;  ye  must  be  growin'  deaf. 

ANNIE 

Yiss,  yiss.  Now  go  to  sleep,  an'  I'll  call  ye  if  I  hear 
the  cuckoo  sing. 

DAVID 

Will  it  sing  again? 

ANNIE  I 

Aye,  darlin',  if  ye  heard  it  once,  'tis  sure  to  sing  again. 
DAVID 

I'll  be  gettin'  well,  Annie,  is  it  not  so? 
ANNIE  (turning  away  suddenly) 

Indeed,  lad  dear,  ye'll  be  about  among  the  heather 

'fore  long. 
DAVID  (speaking  quietly,  almost  to  himself) 

To  think  the  cuckoo's  singin'  —  singin'  for  me! 

ANNIE 

Aye,  aye;  now  go  to  sleep. 

{He  lies  bade  and  closes  his  eyes  obediently.  Annie, 
drying  her  eyes  on  her  apron,  goes  to  left  towards  her 
basket  of  clothes.  She  stands  by  the  tree  where  she  had 
sung  the  cuckoo  song  for  David,  unconscious  that  two 
people  are  head  and  shoulders  above  the  garden  wall, 
looking  at  her. 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO    17 

LOWRY  (in  a  loud  voice) 

So  ye've  come  back,  Annie  Dalben,  to  sing  the 

cuckoo  again. 
GUTO 

Aye,  we  heard  ye  singin'  the  cuckoo. 
LOWRY 

Pooh,  'tis  a  pretty  cuckoo  ye  make,  an  old  woman 

like  you,  an*  a  pretty  song! 

ANNIE 

Lowry  Prichard,  have  a  care ! 
GUTO 

'Tis  over-early  for  the  cuckoo,  is  it  not? 
'ANNIE 

Yiss. 

GUTO 

An*  what  are  ye  singin'  in  your  garden  for,  an' 

David  dyin'? 

\_Annie  does  not  reply  but  stoops  to  her  basket  of  clothes 

and  begins  to  hang  them  out. 
LOWRY 

So  ye'll  give  no  answer?    Well,  indeed,  maybe  ye'll 

answer  Pastor  Morris.     Aye,   Guto,  go  fetch  the 

Pastor. 

[_Guto  goes  off  to  left,  through  garden  gate  in  garden 

wall. 

LOWRY  (going  towards  the  windows  behind  which  David 
lies) 

'Tis  a  godly  song  ye've  sung,  Annie,  an'  a  tale  for 

the  chapel,  eh? 
ANNIE  (following  and  stepping  in  front  of  Lowry) 

Ye    may    go    out    of    this    garden,    an'    that    this 

minute ! 


18    THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

LOWRY  (making  her  way  nearer  and  nearer  the  window) 
Nay,  nay,  I'm  a-goin'  to  speak  with  David  an'  tell 
him  he's  a  cuckoo  for  a  wife.  Tut,  ye  look  fair  crazy, 
Annie,  crazy  with  wrath!  Your  hair  is  all  rumpled, 
an'  your  smock  is  dirty.  David,  bein'  a  cuckoo  is  — 
[_But  the  taunt  is  left  unfinished,  for  at  that  moment 
young  Morris  comes  in  hastily,  Guto  following. 

MORRIS  (authoritatively) 

Annie!  Lowry!  Annie,  is  this  I  hear  true?  Have 
you  been  imitating  the  cuckoo? 

ANNIE 
Aye,  sir. 

MORRIS  (turning  to  Lowry  and  Guto) 
You  may  go.    Leave  this  to  me. 
{Guto  and  Lowry  go  off  right,  through  front  gate,  star 
ing  in  at  David  as  they  pass. 

MORRIS  (sternly) 

So,  Annie,  you  have  been  acting  the  cuckoo  —  acting 
a  lie.  With  this  lie  upon  you,  how  will  it  be  with 
salvation? 

ANNIE  (hotly) 

Salvation,  sir?  I've  no  mind  to  your  salvation;  no, 
nor  to  heaven's,  if  the  Lord  makes  this  singin'  a  lie! 
I'm  thinkin'  of  David  as  I've  thought  of  him  these 
fifty  years,  years  before  ye  were  born,  sir,  an'  if 
a  lie  will  make  him  happy  when  he's  dyin',  then 
I'm  willin*  to  lie,  an*  do  it  every  minute,  of  the 
day. 

MORRIS 

That  means  you  are  willing  to  sin? 

ANNIE 
Aye,  sir,  to  sin.    I'm  a  willin'  sinner! 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO    19 

MORRIS  (more  gently} 

You  are  overwrought,  Annie. 
ANNIE  (wearily) 

Ye're  all  against  me,  sir. 

MORRIS 

Nay,  nay,  but  wouldn't  it  be  better  if  I  were  to  tell 

David  about  the  cuckoo? 
ANNIE  (sobbing) 

Oh,  no,  no,  no,  sir!  Not  that! 
MORRIS  (stretching  out  his  hand  to  comfort  her) 

Annie,  there,  there,  you  mustn't  cry  so. 
ANNIE 

'Tis  all  the  happiness  he's  got,  an'  he's  goin'.    Oh, 

my  lad,  my  lad! 

MORRIS 

There,  there,  Annie! 

ANNIE 

We've  been  married  fifty  years  this  spring,  an'  every 
spring  we've  listened  for  the  cuckoo  an'  not  one 
missed.  An'  now  he's  a-dyin'  an'  a-wantin'  to  hear 
it  so,  an'  'twas  over-early,  an'  then  I  thought  of  bein' 
the  cuckoo  myself.  Oh,  Davy,  Davy  darlin'! 

MORRIS  (altogether  forgetting  his  pastoral  severity) 

There,  Annie,  there,  dear,  tell  me  about  it!  We'll 
see,  Annie. 

ANNIE 

There's  no  more.  Only  he  kept  askin'  about  the 
spring,  the  violets  an'  marsh  marigolds,  an'  I  knew 
all  the  time  he  was  thinkin'  of  the  cuckoo  an'  not 
askin'  because  he  was  goin'  an'  mightn't  hear  it.  An' 
then  he  did.  An'  I  said  I  thought  he'd  hear  one  this 


20    THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

evenin',  that  everythin'  was  over-early  whatever. 
After  that  he  seemed  happier  than  I'd  seen  him,  an' 
I  closed  his  windows  an*  went  off  into  the  garden  to 
practise  it.  I  worked  at  it  till  I  could  do  it  fair. 
Oh,  Davy,  Davy  lad! 
MORRIS 

Now,  Annie  dear,  don't  cry,  just  tell  me  more. 

ANNIE 

Then,  sir,  I  sang  the  song  here  by  this  tree,  an'  when 
he  called  me  to  him,  there  was  such  a  look  of  joy  on 
his  face  as  has  not  been  there  this  long  time.     'Tis 
the  last  happiness  I  can  give  him,  sir. 
DAVID  (calling) 
Annie,  Annie! 

ANNIE 

He's  callin'.    Aye,  lad  dear,  I'm  comin'. 

\_She  goes  into  cottage  and.,  after  opening  all  the  windows, 

stands  by  the  foot  of  David's  bed. 

DAVID 

Have  ye  heard  the  cuckoo  singing'? 

ANNIE 

No,  not  yet.    It  must  be  singin'  again  soon. 
DAVID  (anxiously) 

Ye're  sure  'tis  goin'  to  sing? 
ANNIE  (gathering  him  up  and  turning  his  pillow) 

Indeed,  yiss,  an'  with  the  windows  all  open,  ye'll  be 

hearin'  it  fine  an'  clear,  ye  will.    I'll  go  back  up  into 

the  garden  to  see  is  the  cuckoo  there. 
DAVID 

Will  it  be  singin'  over  an'  over  again,  the  way  it  did 

that  first  time? 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO    21 

ANNIE 

Aye,  I'm  thinkin'  so,  lad  darlin'.  Ye  must  listen 
quietly. 

DAVID 

'Twas  so  beautiful  singin'.  I'd  like  hearin'  it  with 
ye  here  beside  me. 

ANNIE  (kissing  him) 
I'll  come  back,  lad. 

DAVID. 

Aye,  I'll  be  waitin'  for  ye. 

C Annie  goes  out  of  the  cottage  door  and  back  into  garden 
where  Pastor  Morris  is  standing,  his  hat  ojf,  while 
Annie  and  David  are  talking  together.  He  can  see 
them  bothf  but  David  cannot  see  him.  Annie  and 
Morris  converse  in  whispers.  The  cuckoo  song  begins 
to  be  played  softly. 

MORRIS 

Is  he  worse? 

ANNIE  (looking  at  Morris  beseechingly) 

I  cannot  tell,  sir,  but  he's  longin'  to  hear  the  cuckoo 

sing  again. 

•  i 

MORRIS 

I  see  and  you  are  wishing  to  do  it  again? 

ANNIE 

Yiss,  an'  with  the  lad  dyin',  can  ye  tell  me  not  to  do 
what  Davy  is  askin'  for?  Each  time  might  be  nis 
last,  sir. 

MORRIS  (after  a  moment's  hesitation) 

Nay,  go  sing  for  him.  I  will  stand  guard  for  you, 
and  no  one  shall  disturb  you. 


22    THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO 

ANNIE  (a  deep  sigh  of  relief) 

Oh,  sir,  thank  you !    'Tis  sure  to  be  a  comfort.    But 
ye're  harmin'  your  conscience  for  me,  sir,  areye? 

MORRIS  (humbly) 

I'm  not  saying,  Annie;    I'm  over-young  to  have  a 
conscience  in  some  things. 

ANNIE  '(taking  his  hand  to  kiss  it) 

May  God  bless  ye,  sir,  for  bein'  kind  to  an  old  woman!  Qj 
[_The  sun  has  set  behind  the  Chapel,  and  it  is  rapidly  - 
growing  dark  as  the  music  grows  louder.  Morris  steps 
back  to  the  garden  gate  to  keep  watch.  Annie  stands 
by  the  tree  andy  dropping  her  hands  by  her  side,  lifting 
her  head,  and  swaying  her  old  body  to  and  fro,  sings 
the  cuckoo  song  over  and  over  again  three  times,.  David 
lias  risen  in  bed,  an  expression  of  rapturous  delight 
upon  his  face  as  he  leans  against  the  casement  listening. 
The  lights  are  being  lighted  in  the  chapel,  and  the  chapel 
bell  begins  to  ring. 

DAVID  (calling  faintly) 

Annie,  Annie  darlin',   come  quickly,  the  cuckoo's 
singin' ! 

ANNIE  (hastening  towards  him) 
Yiss,  lad,  I'm  comin'. 

DAVID  (stretching  out  his  hands  towards  her) 

Annie,  sweetheart,  did  ye  hear  the  cuckoo  singin'? 

ANNIE 

Yiss,  dearie,  loud  and  clear. 
DAVID  (trying  to  imitate  its  song  while  his  voice  grows 

fainter) 

It  sang  over  an'  over  like  this  — 
ANNIE  (within  the  cottage  and  beside  David) 

Yiss,  dear,  I  see. 


THE  MERRY  MERRY  CUCKOO    23 

DAVID  (sinking  back  into  her  arms) 

An'  —  it  —  was  —  quiet  —  but  —  Annie  — 

ANNIE  (holding  him  to  her  and  crying  out) 

Lad,  lad  dear,  Davy,  can  ye  not  speak  to  me? 
[The  bell  for  chapel  stops  ringing.    The  organ  playing 
'  'Jesus,  Lover  of  my  Soul"  is  heard.    Morris  is  stand 
ing  by  the  gate,  facing  towards  the  old  people,  his  hat 
qff,  his  head  bowed. 

CURTAIN 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT 


CHARACTERS 

DEACON  ROBERTS,  a  stout,  oldish  Welshman. 

HUGH  WILLIAMS,  an  earnest  visionary  young  man  who 

owns  Y  Gegin. 

NELI  WILLIAMS,  his  capable  wife. 
MRS.  JONES,  THE  WASH,  a  stout  kindly  woman  who 

wishes  to  buy  soap. 
MRS.  JENKINS,  THE  MIDWIFE,  after  pins  for  her  latest 

baby. 
TOM  MORRIS,  THE  SHEEP,  who  comes  to  buy  tobacco 

and  remains  to  pray. 


THE   DEACON'S   HAT 

SCENE:  A  little  shop  called  Y  Gegin  (The  Kitchen) 
in  Bala,  North  Wales. 

TIME:  Monday  morning  at  half -past  eleven. 

To  the  right  is  the  counter  of  Y  Gegin,  set  out  with  a 
bountiful  supply  of  groceries;  behind  the  counter  are 
grocery-stocked  shelves.  Upon  the  counter  is  a  good-sized 
enamel-ware  bowl  filled  with  herring  pickled  in  brine  and 
leek,  also  a  basket  of  fresh  eggs,  a  jar  of  pickles,  some 
packages  of  codfish,  a  half  dozen  loaves  of  bread,  a  big 
round  cheese,  several  pounds  of  butter  wrapped  in  print 
paper,  etc.,  etc. 

To  the  left  are  a  cheerful  glowing  fire  and  ingle. 

At  the  back  center  is  a  door;  between  the  door  and  the 
fire  stands  a  grandfather's  clock  with  a  shining  brass  face. 
Between  the  clock  and  the  door,  back  center,  is  a  small 
tridarn  [Welsh  dresser^  and  a  chair.  From  the  rafters 
hang  flitches  of  bacon,  hams,  bunches  of  onions,  herbs, 
etc.  On  either  side  of  the  fireplace  are  latticed  windows, 
showing  a  glimpse  of  the  street.  Before  the  fire  is  a  small, 
round  three-legged  table,  beside  it  a  tall  straight-backed 
chair. 

Between  the  table  and  left  is  a  door  which  is  the  en- 
trance  to  Y  Gegin  and  from  which,  on  a  metal  elbow, 
dangles  a  large  bell. 

At  rise  of  curtain  Hugh  Williams  enters  at  back  center, 
absorbed  in  reading  a  volume  of  Welsh  theological  essays. 
He  is  dressed  in  a  brightly  striped  vest,  a  short,  heavy 


30 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

cloth  coat,  cut  away  in  front  and  with  lapels  trimmed  with 
brass  buttons,  swallowtails  behind,  also  trimmed  with 
brass  buttons,  stock  wound  around  his  neck,  and  tight 
trousers  down  to  his  boot  tops. 

Neli  Williams,  his  wife,  a  comely,  capable  young 
woman,  busy  with  her  knitting  every  instant  she  talks, 
is  clad  in  her  market  costume,  a  scarlet  cloak  and  a  tall 
black  Welsh  beaver.  Over  her  arm  is  an  immense  basket. 
NELI  (commandingly) 

Hughie,  put  down  that  book! 
HUGH  (stitt  going  on  reading) 

Haven't  I  just  said  a  man  is  his  own  master,  what 
ever! 
NELI 

Hughie,  ye're  to  mind  the  shop  while  I'm  gone! 
HUGH  (patiently) 
Yiss,  yiss. 

NELI 

I  don't  think  ye  hear  a  word  I  am  sayin'  whatever. 

HUGH 
Yiss,  I  hear  every  word  ye're  sayin'. 

NELI 

What  is  it  then? 

HUGH  (weakly) 

'T  is  all  about  —  about  —  the  —  the  weather  what 
ever! 

NELI 

Ye've  not  heard  a  word,  an*  ye're  plannin'  to  read 
that  book  from  cover  to  cover,  I  can  see. 

HUGH  (a  little  too  quickly) 
Nay,  I  have  no  plans  .  .  . 
[He  tucks  book  away  in  back  coat  pocket  over-hastily. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  31 

NELI 

Hugh! 
HUGH  (weakly) 

Nay,  I  have  no  plans  whatever! 
NELI  (reproachfully) 

Hugh — iel    'T  would  be  the  end  of  sellin'  any  thin* 

to  anybody  if  I  leave  ye  with  a  book  whatever!    Give 

me  that  book! 
HUGH  (obstinately) 

Nay,  I'll  no  read  the  book. 
NELI 

Give  me  that  book! 
HUGH  (rising  a  little) 

Nay.    I  say  a  man  is  his  own  master  whatever! 
NELI  (finding  the  book  hidden  in  his  coat-tail  pocket) 

Is  he?     Well,  I'll  no  leave  ye  with  any  masterful 

temptations  to  be  readin'. 
HUGH 

•     Ye've  no  cause  to  take  this  book  away  from  me. 
NELI  (opens  book  and  starts  with  delight) 

'Tis  Deacon  Roberts's  new  book  on  "The  Flamin* 

Wickedness  of  Babylon."    Where  did  ye  get  it? 

HUGH  (reassured  by  her  interest) 

He  lent  it  to  me  this  morning. 
NELI  (resolutely) 

Well,  I  will  take  it  away  from  ye  this  noon  till  I  am 

home  again  whatever! 
HUGH  (sulkily) 

Sellin'  groceries  is  not  salvation.    They  sold  groceries 

in  Babylon;  Deacon  Roberts  says  so. 


32  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

NELI  (looking  at  book  with  ill-disguised  eagerness) 

I  dunno  as  anybody  ever  found  salvation  by  givin* 
away  all  he  had  for  nothin'!  'Tis  certain  Deacon 
Roberts  has  not  followed  that  way. 

HUGH  (still  sulkily) 
A  man  is  his  own  master,  I  say. 

NELI  (absent-mindedly ,  her  nose  in  the  book) 
Is  he?    Well,  indeed! 

HUGH  (crossly) 

Aye,  he  is.  (Pointedly)  An*  I  was  not  plannin'  to 
give  away  the  book  whatever. 

NELI  (closing  volume  with  a  little  sigh  as  for  stolen  de 
lights  and  speaking  busily) 

An'  I  am  not  talkin'  about  acceptin'  books  but  about 
butter  an'  eggs  an'  cheese  an'  all  the  other  groceries! 

HUGH 
Aye,  ye'll  get  no  blessin'  from  such  worldliness. 

NELI  (absent-mindedly) 

Maybe  not,  but  ye  will  get  a  dinner  from  that  un 
blessed  worldliness  an'  find  no  fault,  I'm  thinkin'. 
(Her  hand  lingering  on  the  book  which  she  opens)  But 
such  wonderful  theology!  An'  such  eloquence! 
Such  an  understandin'  of  sin !  Such  glowin'  pictures 
of  Babylon! 

HUGH 

Aye,  hot!  I  tell  ye,  Neli,  there's  no  man  in  the  parish 
has  such  a  gift  of  eloquence  as  Deacon  Roberts  or 
such  theology.  In  all  Wales  ye'll  not  find  stronger 
theology  than  his. 

NELI 

Ye  have  no  need  to  tell  me  that!  (Looking  for  a 
place  in  which  to  hide  the  book  until  she  returns)  Have 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  33 

I  not  a  deep  an*  proper  admiration  for  theology? 
Have  I  not  had  one  minister  an'  five  deacons  an'  a 
revivalist  in  my  family,  to  say  nothin'  at  all  of  one 
composer  of  hymns? 

HUGH 

Yiss,  yiss.  Aye,  't  is  a  celebrated  family.  I  am  no 
sayin'  anythin'  against  your  family. 

NELI 

Then  what? 

HUGH  (pleadingly) 

Deacon  Roberts  has  great  fire  with  which  to  save 
souls.  We're  needin'  that  book  on  Babylon's  wicked 
ness.  Give  it  back  to  me,  Neli! 

NELI 

Oh,  aye!  (Looks  at  husband)  I'm  not  sayin'  but 
that  ye  are  wicked,  Hugh,  an'  needin'  these  essays, 
for  ye  have  no  ministers  and  deacons  and  hymn  com 
posers  among  your  kin. 

HUGH  (triumphantly) 

Aye,  aye,  that's  it!  That's  it!  An'  the  more  need 
have  I  to  read  till  my  nostrils  are  full  of  the  smoke 
of  —  of  Babylon. 

NELI  (absent-mindedly  tucking  book  away  on  shelf  as 
she  talks) 

Aye,  but  there  has  been  some  smoke  about  Deacon 
Roberts's  reputation  which  has  come  from  some  fire 
less  far  away  than  Babylon. 

HUGH 

What  smoke? 

NELI  (evasively) 

Well,  I  am  thinkin'  about  my  eggs  which  vanished 
one  week  ago  to-day.  There  was  no  one  in  that 


34  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

mornin*  but  Deacon  Roberts.    Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash 

had  come  for  her  soap  an*  gone  before  I  filled  that 

basket  with  eggs. 
HUGH  (watching  her  covertly,   standing   on  tiptoe  and 

craning  his  neck  as  she  stows  away  book) 

Yiss,  yiss! 
NELI  (slyly) 

Ask  Deacon  Roberts  if  cats  steal  eggs  whatever? 
HUGH  (repeating) 

If  cats  steal  eggs,  if  cats  steal  eggs. 
NELI 

Aye,  not  if  eggs  steal  cats. 
HUGH  (craning  neck) 

Yiss,  yiss,  if  eggs  steal  cats! 

NELI 

Hugh — iel    Now  ye'll  never  get  it  correct  again! 
*T  is  if  cats  steal  eggs. 
HUGH  (sulkily) 

Well,  I'm  no  carin*  about  cats  with  heaven  starin* 
me  in  the  face. 

[Neli  turns  about  swiftly  with  the  quick  sudden  motions 
characteristic  of  her,  and  Hugh  shrinks  into  himself. 
She  shakes  her  finger  at  him  and  goes  over  to  kiss  him. 

NELI 

Hughie  lad,  ye're  not  to  touch  the  book  while  I  am 
gone  to  market. 

HUGH 

Nay,  nay,  certainly  not! 

NELI 

And  ye're  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  Mrs.  Jones  the 
Wash,  for  Mrs.  Jenkins  the  Midwife  —  Jane  Elin 
has  a  new  baby,  an'  it'll  be  needin'  somethin'.  (Point- 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  35 

ing  to  counter)     Here  is  everythin'  plainly  marked. 

Ye're  no  to  undersell  or  give  away  anythin'.    D'  ye 

hear? 
HUGH 

Aye,  I  hear! 
NELI 

An'  remember  where  the  tobacco  is,  for  this  is  the 

day  Tom  Morris  the  Sheep  comes  in. 
HUGH 

Aye,  in  the  glass  jar. 
NELI 

Good-by.     I  will  return  soon. 
HUGH  (indifferently) 

Good-by. 

\_Neli  leaves  by  door  at  back  center.    Immediately  Hugh 

steals  towards  the  shelves  where  she  hid  the  book. 
NELI  (thrusting  head  back  in) 

Mind,  Hughie  lad,  no  readin'  —  nay,  not  even  any 

theology ! 
HUGH  (stepping  quickly  away  from  shelves  and  repeating 

parrot-like) 

Nay,  nay,  no  readin',  no  sermons,  not  even  any 

theology ! 
NELI 

An'  no  salvation  till  I  come  back ! 

\_She  smiles,  withdraws  head,  and  is  gone.    Hugh  starts 

forward,  collides  clumsily  with  the  counter  in  his  eager 
ness,  knocks  the  basket  of  eggs  with  his  elbow,  upsetting 

it.     Several  eggs  break.     He  shakes  his  head  ruefully 

at  the  mess  and  as  ruefully  at  the  counter.    He  finds 

book  and  hugs  it  greedily  to  him. 


36 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

HUGH  (mournfully) 

Look  at  this!  What  did  I  say  but  that  there  was  no 
salvation  sellin'  groceries!  If  Neli  could  but  see 
those  eggs !  (He  goes  behind  counter  and  gets  out  a  box 
of  eggs,  from  which  he  re-fills  the  basket.  The  broken 
eggs  he  leaves  untouched  upon  the  floor.  He  opens  his 
volume  of  sermons  and  seats  himself  by  a  little  three- 
legged  table  near  the  fire.  He  sighs  in  happy  anticipa 
tion.  Hearing  a  slight  noise,  he  looks  suspiciously  at 
door,  gets  up,  tiptoes  across  floor  to  street  door,  and 
locks  it  quietly.  An  expression  of  triumph  overspreads 
his  face)  Da,  if  customers  come,  they  will  think  no 
one  is  at  home  whatever,  an*  I  can  read  on!  (He 
seats  himself  at  little  three-legged  table,  opens  volume, 
smooths  over  its  pages  lovingly,  and  begins  to  read 
slowly  and  halting  over  syllables)  The  smoke  of  Ba-by- 
lon  was  hot  —  scorchin'  hot.  An'  'twas  filled  with 
Ba-ba-ba-baal  stones,  slimy  an'  scorchin'  hot  also  — 
\_There  is  the  sound  of  feet  coming  up  the  shop  steps, 
followed  by  a  hand  trying  the  door  knob.  Hugh  looks 
up  from  his  sermons,  an  expression  of  innocent  triumph 
on  his  face.  The  door  knob  is  tried  again,  the  door 
rattled. 
Then  some  one  rings  the  shop  doorbell. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (calling) 

Mrs.    Williams,    mum,   have   ye   any   soap?      (No 
answer.    Calling)    Mrs.  Williams!    Mrs.  Williams! 
[Hugh  nods  approvingly  and  lifts  his  volume  to  read. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH 

Where  are  they  all  whatever?  I  will  just  look  in  at 
the  window.  (A  large  kindly  face  is  anxiously  flat 
tened  against  the  window.  At  that  Hugh  drops  in  con- 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  37 

sternation  under  the  three-legged  table)     Uch,  what's 

that  shadow  skippin'  under  the  table?    No  doubt  a 

rat  after  the  groceries.      Mrs.  Williams,  mum,  Mrs. 

Williams!    Well,  indeed  they're  out. 

[She  pounds  once  more  on  the  door  with  a  heavy  fist, 

rings,  and  then  goes.     Suddenly  the  door  back  center 

opens,  and  Neli  Williams  appears. 
NELI  (she  does  not  see  Hugh  and  peers  around  for  him) 

What  is  all  that  bell-ringing  about? 

[Hugh  crawls  out  from  under  table. 
HUGH 

Hush,  she'  gone! 
NELI  (amazed  and  whispering  to  herself) 

Under  the  table! 
HUGH  (rising  and  putting  up  his  hand  as  a  sign  for  her 

to  keep  silent) 

Nay,  't  was  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash  come  to  buy  her 

soap  whatever! 
NELI 

Aye,  well,  why  didn't  she  come  in  whatever? 
HUGH  (whispering) 

I  locked  the  door,  Neli,  so  I  could  finish  readin'  those 

essays  whatever!     An'  then  she  looked  in  at  the 

window,  an'  I  had  to  get  under  the  table. 
NELI  (indignantly) 

Locked  the  door  against  a  customer,  an'  after  all  I 

said!    An'  crawled  under  a  table!    Hugh  Williams, 

your  wits  are  goin'  quite  on  the  downfall! 
HUGH  (in  a  whisper) 

Aye,  but  Neli,  those  essays  —  an'  I  thought  ye  had 

gone  to  market. 


38  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

NELI 

I  had  started,  but  I  came  back  for  my  purse.  Put 
down  that  book ! 

HUGH 
Aye,  but,  Neli  — 

NELI  (angrily) 

Much  less  of  heaven  an*  much  more  of  earth  is  what 
I  need  in  a  husband!  Ye  have  sent  away  a  customer; 
very  like  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash  after  soap  will  go  else 
where. 

HUGH 

Aye,  but,  Neli  .  .  . 

[Steps  are  heard  approaching. 

NELI 

Get  up !    Some  one  is  coming. 
[Hugh  gets  up  very  unwillingly. 

HUGH  (whispering  still) 
Aye,  but,  Neli  .  .  . 

NELI  (angrily) 

Put  down  that  book,  I  say!  (She  crunches  aver  some 
eggshells)  Eggs?  Broken? 

HUGH  (putting  down  book) 

Aye,  Neli,  my  elbow  an*  the  eggs  in  Babylon  .  .  . 

NELI  (sarcastically) 

Aye,  I  see  beasts  in  Babylon  here  together,  —  dole 
ful  creatures  smearin'  one  an'  sixpence  worth  of  eggs 
all  over  the  floor.  An'  a  half  dozen  eggs  gone  last 
week.  (Wiping  up  eggs)  An'  I'm  to  suppose  Baby 
lon  had  something  to  do  with  that  half  dozen  eggs, 
too?  They  were  put  in  the  basket  after  Mrs.  Jones 
the  Wash  had  left  whatever,  an'  before  Deacon 
Roberts  came. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  39 

HUGH 

Neli,  I  did  not  say  .  .  . 

NELI  (still  angrily) 

Well,  indeed,  unlock  that  door! 

HUGH  (going  to  unlock  door) 
But,  Neli  .  .  . 

NELI  (disappearing  through  door  back  center) 

Not  a  word !  Your  mind  has  gone  quite  on  the  down 
fall  —  lockin'  doors  against  your  own  bread  and 
butter  an'  soap. 

HUGH  (unlocking  door  sullenly) 
But,  Neli,  salvation  an'  soap  .  .  . 

NELI  (snappily) 

Salvation  an'  soap  are  as  thick  as  thieves. 
HUGH 

But,  Neli,  a  man  is  his  own  master. 
NELI 

Yiss,  I  see  he  is ! 

[_Neli  goes  out,  slamming  door  noisily. 

HUGH 

Dear  anwyl,  she  seems  angry ! 

\_Hugh  opens  street  door  left  just  as  Neli  goes  out  through 
kitchen,  by  door  back  center.  Deacon  Roberts  enters 
the  door  Hugh  has  unlocked.  He  looks  at  Hugh,  smiles, 
and  goes  over  to  counter  in  a  businesslike  way.  He  is  a 
stout  man,  dressed  in  a  black  broadcloth  cutaway  coat, 
tight  trousers,  a  drab  vest,  high  collar  and  stock,  woollen 
gloves,  a  muffler  wound  about  his  neck  and  face,  and 
a  tall  Welsh  beaver  hat.  Under  his  arm  he  carries 
a  book. 


40  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

DEACON  ROBERTS    (speaking  affectionately,   pulling   off 
his  gloves,  putting  down  book  on  counter,  and  begin 
ning  eagerly  to  touch  the  various  groceries) 
Essays  on  Babylon  to-day,  Hughie  lad? 

HUGH  (looking  about  for  Neli  and  speaking  fretfully) 
Nay. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (unwinding  his  muffler) 

Ye  look  as  if  ye  had  been  in  spiritual  struggle. 

HUGH  (drearily) 
I  have. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

Well,  indeed,  Hughie,  *t  is  neither  the  angel  nor  the 
archfiend  here  now,  nor  for  me  any  struggle  except 
the  struggle  to  both  live  an'  eat  well  —  ho!  ho! 
an'  eat  well,  I  say  —  in  Bala.  (Laughs  jovially) 
Ho !  ho !  not  bad,  Hughie  lad,  — live  an'  eat  in 
Bala! 

HUGH  (patiently) 

With  that  muffler  around  your  head,  Deacon,  ye  are 
enough  to  frighten  the  devil  out  of  Babylon. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (unwinding  last  lap  of  muffler) 

Yiss,  yiss,  Hughie  lad.  But  I  dunno  but  ye  will 
understand  better  if  I  call  myself,  let  us  say  the 
angel  with  the  sickle  —  ho !  ho !  —  not  the  angel  of 
fire,  Hughie,  but  the  angel  with  the  sharp  sickle 
gatherin'  the  clusters  of  the  vines  of  the  earth. 
(Sudden  change  of  subject)  Where  is  Neli? 

HUGH  (vacantly) 

I  dunno  —  yiss,  yiss,  at  market. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (chuckling) 

Dear,  dear,  at  market  —  a  fine  day  for  marketing! 
An'  my  essays  on  the  Flamin'  Wickedness  of  Baby- 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  41 

Ion,  Hughie  lad,  how  are  they?    Have  ye  finished 

them? 
HUGH 

Nay,  not  yet. 
DEACON  ROBERTS   (looking  over  counter,   touching  one 

article  after  another  as  he  mentions  it)    Pickled  herrin* 

—  grand  but  wet !     Pickles  —  dear  me,  yiss,  Neli's 

—  an*  good !     Butter  from  Haf od-y-Porth  —  sweet 
as  honey !    (He  picks  up  a  pat  of  butter  and  sniffs  it, 
drawing  in  his  breath  loudly.    He  smiles  with  delight 
and  lays  down  the  butter.    He  takes  off  his  hat  and 
dusts  it  out  inside.    He  puts  his  hat  back  on  his  head, 
smiles,  chuckles,  picks  up  butter,  taps  it  thoughtfully 
with  two  fingers,  smells  it  and  puts  down  the  pat 
lingeringly.     He  lifts  up  a  loaf  of  Neli  Williams's 
bread,  glancing  from  it  to  the  butter)     Bread!    Dear 
me!     (His  eyes  glance  on  to  codfish)    American  cod 
fish,  (picks  up  package  and  smacks  his  lips  loudly) 
dear  anwyl,  with  potatoes —  (reads)     "Gloucester." 

(Reaches  out  and  touches  eggs  affectionately)     Eggs  — 
are  they  fresh,  Hugh? 
HUGH  (dreamily) 

Idunno.    But  I  broke  some  of  them.    They  might  be! 
[Looks  at  floor. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

Were  they  fresh? 

HUGH 

I  dunno. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (sharply) 
Dunno?    About  eggs? 
\_Picks  up  egg. 


42 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

HUGH  (troubled) 

Nell's  hens  laid  them. 

DEACON  EGBERTS 

I  see,  Nell's   hens  laid  'em,  an*  you  broke   'em! 
Admirable  arrangement!     (Putting  down  the  egg  and 
turning  towards  the  cheese,   speaks  on  impatiently) 
Well,  indeed  then,  were  the  hens  fresh? 
HUGH  (more  cheerful) 

Yiss,  I  think.  Last  week  the  basket  was  grand  an* 
full  of  fresh  eggs,  but  they  disappeared,  aye,  they 
did  indeed. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (starts) 

Where  did  they  go  to? 

HUGH  (injured) 

How  can  I  say?  I  was  here,  an'  I  would  have  told 
her  if  I  had  seen,  but  I  did  not  whatever.  Neli 
reproves  me  for  too  great  attention  to  visions  an'  too 
little  to  the  groceries. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (chuckling) 

Aye,  Hughie  lad,  such  is  married  life!  Let  a  man 
marry  his  thoughts  or  a  wife,  for  he  cannot  have 
both.  I  have  chosen  my  thoughts. 

HUGH 
But  the  cat  — 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (briskly) 

Aye,  a  man  can  keep  a  cat  without  risk. 
HUGH 

Nay,  nay,  I  mean  the  cat  took 'em.  I  dunno.  That's 
it  —  (Hugh  clutches  his  head,  trying  to  recall  some 
thing)  Uch,  that's  it!  Neli  told  me  to  remember 
to  ask  ye  if  ye  thought  eggs  could  steal  a  cat 
whatever. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT 43 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (puzzled) 

Eggs  steal  a  cat? 

HUGH  (troubled) 

Nay,  nay,  cats  steal  an  egg? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (startled  and  looking  suspiciously  at 
Hugh) 
Cats?    What  cats? 

HUGH  (with  solemnity) 

Aye,  but  I  told  Neli  I'm  no  carin'  about  cats  with 
heaven  starin'  me  in  the  face.  Deacon  Roberts, 
those  essays  are  grand  an'  wonderful. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (relieved) 

Yiss,  yiss!  Hughie  lad,  theology  is  a  means  to  sal 
vation  an*  sometimes  to  other  ends,  too.  But  there's 
no  money  in  theology.  (Sighs)  And  a  man  must 
live!  (Points  to  corroded  dish  of  pickled  herring, 
sniffing  greedily)  Dear  people,  what  beautiful  her- 
rin'!  (Wipes  moisture  away  from  corners  of  his 
mouth  and  picks  up  a  fish  from  dish,  holding  it,  drip 
ping,  by  tail)  Pickled? 

HUGH  (looking  at  corroded  dish) 
Tuppence. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (shortly) 

Dear  to-day. 
HUGH  (eyeing  dish  dreamily) 

I  dunno.    Neli  — 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (eyes  glittering,  cutting  straight  through 

sentence  and  pointing  to  cheese) 

Cheese? 

HUGH 

A  shillin',  I'm  thinkiV, 


44 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

A  shillin',  Hugh?  (Deacon  Roberts  lifts  knife  and 
drops  it  lightly  on  edge  of  cheese.  The  leaf  it  pares  off 
he  picks  up  and  thrusts  into  his  mouthy  greedily  push 
ing  in  the  crumbs.  Then  he  pauses  and  looks  slyly  at 
Hugh)  Was  it  sixpence  ye  said,  Hugh? 

HUGH  (gazing  towards  the  fire  and  the  volume  of  essays) 
Yiss,  sixpence,  I  think. 

DEACON  ROBERTS     (sarcastically) 
Still  too  dear,  Hugh! 

HUGH  (sighing) 

I  dunno,  it  might  be  dear.  (With  more  animation) 
Deacon,  when  Babylon  fell  — 

DEACON  ROBERTS   (wipes  his  mouth  and,  interrupting 
Hugh)  speaks  decisively) 

No  cheese.  (He  removes  his  tall  Welsh  beaver  hat, 
mops  off  his  bald  white  head,  and,  pointing  up  to  the 
shelves,  begins  to  dust  out  inside  of  hatband  again  but 
with  a  deliberate  air  of  preparation)  What  is  that 
up  there,  Hughie  lad? 

HUGH  (trying  to  follow  the  direction  of  the  big  red  waver 
ing  forefinger) 
Ye  mean  that?    ABC  In-fants'  Food,  I  think. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (giving  his  hat  a  final  wipe) 

Nay,  nay,  not  for  me,  Hughie  lad !  Come,  come,  brush 
the  smoke  of  burnin'  Babylon  from  your  eyes !  In  a 
minute  I  must  be  goin'  back  to  my  study,  whatever. 
An'  I  have  need  of  food! 

{Hugh  takes  a  chair  and  mounts  it.  The  Deacon  looks 
at  Hugh's  back,  puts  his  hand  down  on  the  counter,  and 
picks  up  an  egg  from  the  basket.  He  holds  it  to  the 
light  and  squints  through  it  to  see  whether  it  is  fresh. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  45 

Then  he  turns  it  lovingly  over  in  his  fat  palm,,  makes  a 
dexterous  backward  motion  and  slides  it  into  his  coat- 
tail  pocket.  This  he  follows  with  two  more  eggs  for  same 
coat  tail  and  three  for  other  —  in  all  half  a  dozen. 

HUGH  (dreamily  pointing  to  tin) 
Is  it  Yankee  corn? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (to  Hugh's  back  and  slipping  in  second 


Nay,  nay,  not  that,  Hughie  lad,  that  tin  above! 
HUGH  (absent-mindedly  touching  tin) 

Is  it  ox  tongue? 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (slipping  in  third  egg  and  not  even 

looking  up)    . 

Ox  tongue,  lad?    Nay,  nothin'  so  large  as  that. 
HUGH  (dreamingly  reaching  up  higher) 

American  condensed  m-m-milk?     Yiss,  that's  what 

it  is. 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (slipping  in  fourth  egg) 

Condensed  milk,  Hughie?     Back  to  infants'  food 

again. 
HUGH  (stretching  up  almost  to  his  full  length  and  holding 

down  tin  with  tips  of  long  white  finger) 

Kippert  herrin'?    Is  it  that? 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (slipping  in  fifth  egg) 

Nay,  nay,  a  little  further  up,  if  you  please. 
HUGH  (gasping,  but  still  reaching  up  and  reading) 

Uto  —  Uto  —  U-to-pi-an    Tinned    Sausage.      Is    it 

that? 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (slipping  in  sixth  egg  with  an  air  of 

finality  and  triumph,   and  lifting  his  hat  from  the 

counter) 

Nay,  nay,  not  that,  Hughie  lad.     Why  do  ye  not 


46  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

begin  by  askin'  me  what  I  want?    Ye've  no  gift  for 
sellin'  groceries  whatever. 
HUGH  (surprised} 
Did  I  not  ask  ye? 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

Nay. 

HUGH 

What  would  Neli  say  whatever?    She  would  never 

forgive  me. 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (amiably) 

Well,  I  forgive  ye,  Hughie  lad.     'Tis  a  relish,  I'm 

needin' ! 
HUGH  (relieved) 

Well,  indeed,  a  relish!    We  have  relishes  on  that  shelf 

above,  I  think.     (Reaches  up  but  pauses  helplessly) 

I  must  tell  Neli  that  these  shelves  are  not  straight. 

[Dizzy  and  dinging  to  the  shelves,  his  back  to  the 

Deacon. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (picking  up  a  pound  of  butter  wrapped 

in  print  paper) 

Is  it  up  there? 
HUGH 

No,  I  think,  an*  the  shelves  are  not  fast  whatever.    I 

must  tell  Neli.    They  go  up  like  wings.     (Trying  to 

reach  to  a  bottle  just  above  him)     Was  it  English  or 

American? 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (putting  the  pound  of  butter  in  his 

hat  and  his  hat  on  his  head) 

American,  Hughie  lad. 

[At  that  instant  there  is  a  noise  from  the  inner  kitchen, 

and  Neli  Williams  opens  the  door.    The  Deacon  turns. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  47 

and  their  glances  meet  and  cross.  Each  understands 
perfectly  what  the  other  has  seen.  Neli  Williams  has 
thrown  off  her  red  cloak  and  taken  of  her  Welsh  beaver 
hat.  She  is  dressed  in  a  short  full  skirt,  white  stock 
ings,  clogs  on  her  feet,  a  striped  apron,  tight  bodice, 
fichu,  short  sleeves,  and  white  cap  on  dark  hair. 

NELI  (slowly) 

Uch!    The  Deacon  has  what  he  came  for  whatever! 

HUGH  (turning  to  contradict  his  wife) 

Nay,  Neli,  —  (Losing  his  balance  on  chair,  tumbles 
off,  and,  with  arm  flung  out  to  save  himself,  strikes  dish 
of  pickled  herring.  The  herring  and  brine  fly  in  every 
direction,  spraying  the  Deacon  and  Hughie;  the  bowl 
spins  madly,  dipping  and  revolving  on  the  floor.  For 
a  few  seconds  nothing  is  audible  except  the  bowl  revolv 
ing  on  the  flagstones  and  Hugh  picking  himself  up 
and  sneezing  behind  the  counter) 
Achoo !  Achoo !  Dear  me,  Neli  —  Achoo ! 

NELI  (going  quickly  to  husband  and  beginning  to  wipe 
brine  from  husband's  forehead  and  cheeks;  at  the  same 
time  has  her  back  to  the  Deacon  and  forming  soundless 
letters  with  her  Iip9  she  jerks  her  head  towards  the 
Deacon) 
B-U-T-T-E-R! 

HUGH  (drearily) 

Better?  Aye,  I'm  better.  It  did  not  hurt  me 
whatever. 

NELI  (jerking  head  backwards  towards  Deacon  Roberts 
and  again  forming  letters  with  lips) 
B-U-T-T-E-R! 

HUGH 

What,  water?    Nay,  I  don't  want  any  water. 


48  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

DEACON  ROBERTS   (coughing,  ill  at  ease  and  glancing 

suspiciously  at  bowl  that  has  come  to  rest  near  his  leg) 

Ahem!    'T  is  cold  here,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum,  an'  I 

must  be  movin'  on. 
NELI  (savagely  to  Deacon) 

Stay  where  ye  are  whatever! 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (unaccustomed  to  being  spoken  to  this 

way  by  a  woman) 

Well,  indeed,  mum,  I  could  stay,  but  I'm  thinkin  't 

is  cold  an'  —  I'd  better  go. 
NELI  (again  savagely) 

Nay,  stay !  Stay  for — for  what  ye  came  for  whatever ! 

[Neli  looks  challengingly  at  the  Deacon.     Then  she 

goes  on  wiping  brine  carefully  from  husband's  hair 

and  from  behind  his  ears.     The  Deacon  coughs  and 

pushes  bowl  away  with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (smiling) 

'T  is  unnecessary  to  remain  then,  mum. 
NELI  (to  Hugh) 

What  did  he  get? 
HUGH  (sneezing) 

N  —  n  —  Achoo !  —  nothin' ! 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (with  sudden  interest  looking  at  the  floor) 

Well,  indeed! 
NELI  (suspiciously) 

What  is  it? 

[He  reaches  down  with  difficulty  to  a  small  thick 

puddle  on  the  floor  just  beneath  his  left  coat  tail.    He 

aims  a  red  forefinger  at  it,  lifts  himself,  and  sucks 

fingertip) 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (smiling) 

Ahem,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum,  5t  is  excellent  herrin* 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  49 

brine!     (From  the  basket  on  the  counter  he  picks  up 

an  egg  which  he  tosses  lightly  and  replaces  in  basket) 

A  beautiful  fresh  egg,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum.    I  must 

be  steppin'  homewards. 
HUGH  (struggling  to  speak  just  as  Nell  reaches  his  nose, 

wringing  it  vigorously  as  she  wipes  it) 

Aye,  but,  Neli,  I  was  just  tellin'  ye  when  I  fell  that 

I  could  not  find  the  Deacon's  relish  —  uch,  achoo ! 

achoo ! 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (with  finality,  tossing  the  egg  in  air, 

catching  it  and  putting  it  back  in  basket) 

Well,  indeed,  mum,  I  must  be  steppin'  homewards 

now. 

[Neli's  glance  rests  on  fire  burning  on  other  side  of 

room.     She  puts  down  wet  cloth.    She  turns  squarely 

on  the  Deacon. 

NELI 

What  is  your  haste,  Mr.  Roberts?  Please  to  go  to 
the  fire  an'  wait!  I  can  find  the  relish. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (hastily) 

Nay,   nay,   mum.     I  have  no   need  any   more  — 
(Coughs)     Excellent  herrin'  brine. 
[Goes  towards  door. 

NELI  (to  Hugh) 

Take  him  to  the  fire,  Hugh.  'T  is  a  cold  day  what 
ever!  (Insinuatingly  to  Deacon)  Have  ye  a  reason 
for  wantin'  to  go,  Mr.  Roberts? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (going) 

Nay,  nay,  mum,  none  at  all!  But,  I  must  not  trouble 
ye.  'T  is  too  much  to  ask,  an'  I  have  no  time  to 
spare  an'  — 


50 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

NELI  (interrupting  and  not  without  acerbity) 

Indeed,  Mr.  Roberts,  sellin'  what  we  can  is  our 
profit.  (To  Hugh.,  who  obediently  takes  Deacon  by 
arm  and  pulls  him  towards  fire)  Take  him  to  the 
fire,  lad.  (To  Deacon)  What  kind  of  a  relish  was  it, 
did  ye  say,  Mr.  Roberts? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (having  a  tug  of  war  with  Hugh) 
'T  is  an  Indian  relish,  mum,  but  I  cannot  wait. 

HUGH  (pulling  harder) 
American,  ye  said. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (hastily) 

Yiss,  yiss,  American  Indian  relish,  that  is. 

NELI 

Tut,  't  is  our  specialty,  these  American  Indian  rel 
ishes!  We  have  several.  Sit  down  by  the  fire  while 
I  look  them  up.  (Wickedly)  As  ye  said,  Mr. 
Roberts,  't  is  cold  here  this  morning. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

There,  Hughie  lad,  I  must  not  trouble  ye.     (Looks 
at  clock)     'T  is  ten  minutes  before  twelve,  an*  my 
dinner  will  be  ready  at  twelve. 
[Pulls  harder. 
NELI  (to  Hugh) 

Keep  him  by  the  fire,  lad. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

There,  Hughie  lad,  let  me  go! 

[But  Hugh  holds  on,  and  the  Deacon's  coat  begins  to 
come  off. 
NELI  (sarcastically) 

The  relish  —  American  Indian,  ye  said,  I  think,  — 
will  make  your  dinner  taste  fine  and  grand! 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  51 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (finding  that  without  leaving  his  coat 

behind  he  is  unable  to  go,  he  glowers  at  Hugh  and 

speaks  sweetly  to  Neli) 

'T  is  a  beautiful  clock,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum.    But  I 

have  n't  five  minutes  to  spare. 
NELI  (keeping  a  sharp  lookout  on  the  rim  of  the  Deacon's 

hat) 

Well,  indeed,  I  can  find  the  relish  in  just  one  minute. 

An'  ye'll  have  abundance  of  time  left. 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (trapped  and  gazing  at  clock  with  fine 

air  of  indifference) 

'T  is  a  clever,  shinin'  lookin'  clock  whatever,  Mrs. 

Williams,  mum. 

NELI 

Have  ye  any  recollection  of  the  name  of  the  maker  of 
the  relish,  Mr.  Roberts? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (putting  his  hands  behind  him  anx 
iously  and  parting  his  freighted  coat  tails  with  care; 
then,  revolving,  presenting  his  back  and  one  large  well- 
set  bright-colored  patch  to  the  fire) 
Nay,  I  have  forgotten  it,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum. 

NELI 

Too  bad,  but  I'm  sure  to  find  it.  (She  mounts  upon 
chair.  At  this  moment  the  shop  doorbell  rings  violently, 
and  there  enters  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash,  very  fat  and 
very  jolly.  She  is  dressed  in  short  skirt  very  full,  clogs 
on  her  feet,  a  bodice  made  of  striped  Welsh  flannel,  a 
shabby  kerchief,  a  cap  on  her  head,  and  over  this  a 
shawl.  Neli  turns  her  head  a  little) 
Aye,  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash,  in  a  minute,  it  you 
please.  Sit  down  until  I  find  Deacon  Roberts 's 
relish  whatever. 


52  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (sits  down  on  chair  by  door  back 
center  and  folds  her  hands  over  her  stomach) 
Yiss,  yiss,  mum,  thank  you.    I've  come  for  soap.    I 
came  once  before,  but  no  one  was  in. 

NELI 

Too  bad! 

MRS.   JONES   THE   WASH 

An'  I  looked  in  at  the  window  an'  saw  nothin'  but  a 
skippin'  shadow  looked  like  a  rat.     Have  ye  any 
rats,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum,  do  ye  think? 
NELI 

Have  I  any  rats?    Well,  indeed,  't  is  that  I'm  wantin' 
to  know,  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash! 

MRS.    JONES   THE   WASH 

Well,  I  came  back,  for  the  water  is  eatin'  the  soap 
to-day  as  if  'twere  sweets  —  aye,  't  is  a  very  meltin' 
day  for  soap ! 
[Laughs. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

'T  is  sweet  to  be  clean,  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash. 
MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (laughing) 

Yiss,  yiss,  Deacon  Roberts,  there  has  many  a  chapel 

been  built  out  of  a  washtub,  an'  many  a  prayer  risen 

up  from  the  suds! 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (solemnly) 

Aye,  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash,  't  is  holy  work,  washin' 

is  very  holy  work. 

MRS.    JONES   THE   WASH    (touched) 

Yiss,  yiss,  I  thank  ye,  Deacon  Roberts. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

Well,  I  must  be  steppin'  homeward  now. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  53 

NELI  (firmly) 

Nay,  Mr.  Roberts,  I  am  searchin'  on  the  shelf  where 
I  think  that  American  Indian  relish  is.  Ye  act  as 
if  ye  had  some  cause  to  hurry,  Mr.  Roberts.  Wait 
a  moment,  if  you  please. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

Well,  indeed,  but  I  am  keepin'  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash 
waitin' ! 

NELI  (to  Mrs.  Jones) 
Ye  are  in  no  haste? 

MRS.   JONES   THE   WASH     (thoroughly   comfortable    and 
happy) 

Nay,  mum,  no  haste  at  all.  I  am  havin'  a  rest,  an* 
't  is  grand  an'  warm  here  whatever. 

NELI  (maliciously  to  Deacon) 
Does  it  feel  hot  by  the  fire? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (experiencing  novel  sensations  on  the 
crown  of  his  bald  head) 

Mrs.  Williams,  mum,  't  is  hot  in  Y  Gegin,  but  as  with 
Llanycil  Churchyard,  Y  Gegin  is  only  the  portal 
to  a  hotter  an'  a  bigger  place  where  scorchin'  flames 
burn  forever  an'  forever.  Proverbs  saith,  'Hell  an' 
destruction  are  never  full.'  WTiat,  then,  shall  be 
the  fate  of  women  who  have  no  wisdom,  Mrs.  Will 
iams,  mum? 

NELI  (searching  for  relish) 

Aye,  what?    Well,  indeed,  the  men  must  know. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (nodding  her  head  appreciatively 
at  Hugh) 

Such  eloquence,  Mr.  Williams!    Aye,  who  in  chapel 
has  such  grand  theology  as  Deacon  Roberts! 
[She  sighs.     The  bell  rings  violently  againt  and  Tom 


54  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

Morris  the  Sheep  enters.  He  is  dressed  in  gaiters,  a 
shepherd's  cloak,  etc.,  etc.  He  carries  a  crook  in  his 
hand.  He  is  a  grizzle-haired,  rosy-faced  old  man,  raw- 
boned,  strong  and  awkward,  with  a  half-earnest,  half- 
foolish  look. 
NELI  Booking  around) 

Aye,  Tom  Morris  the  Sheep,  come  in  an*  sit  down.  I 
am  lookin'  out  an  American  Indian  relish  for  the 
Deacon. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE   SHEEP 

Yiss,  mum.     I  am  wantin'  to  buy  a  little  tobacco, 
mum.    'T  is  lonely  upon  the  hillsides  with  the  sheep, 
whatever. 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (hastily) 

I  must  go  now,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum,  an5  ye  can  wait 
on  Tom  Morris. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE   SHEEP 

Nay,  nay,  Mr.  Roberts,  sir,  there  is  no  haste. 
NELI  (to  Tom  Morris) 

Sit  down  there  by  the  door,  if  you  please. 

[Tom  Morris  seats  himself  on  other  side  of  door  by 

back  center. 

TOM  MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Yiss,  mum.  (Touches  his  forelock  to  Mrs.  Jones  the 
Wash)  A  grand  day  for  the  clothes,  Mrs.  Jones,  mum. 

MRS.   JONES   THE   WASH 

Yiss,  yiss,  an'  as  I  was  just  sayin'  't  is  a  meltin'  day 
for  the  soap! 
NELI  (significantly) 

An'  perhaps  't  is  a  meltin'  day  for  somethin'  besides 
soap! 
[She  looks  at  Deacon. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  55 

HUGH  (earnestly) 

Yiss,  yiss,  for  souls,  meltin'  for  souls,  I  am  hopin'. 
(Picking  up  the  book  from  the  little  three-legged  table, 
and  speaking  to  the  Deacon)  They  are  enlargin'  the 
burial  ground  in  Llanycil  Churchyard  —  achoo ! 
achoo ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (slyly  moving  a  step  away  from  fire) 
They're  only  enlargin'  hell,  Hughie  lad,  an'  in  that 
place  they  always  make  room  for  all. 
[He  casts  a  stabbing  look  at  Neli. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (nodding  head) 

True,  true,  room  for  all!  (Chuckling)  But 't  would 
be  a  grand  place  to  dry  the  clothes  in! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (severely) 

Mrs.  Jones,  mum,  hell  is  paved  with  words  of  light 
ness. 

HUGH  (looking  up  from  book,  his  face  expressing  delight) 
Deacon  Roberts,  I  have  searched  for  the  place  of 
hell,  but  one  book  sayeth  one  thing,  an'  another 
another.  Where  is  hell? 

TOM   MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Aye,  where  is  hell? 

[The  bell  rings  violently.  All  start  except  Neli.  Mrs. 
Jenkins  the  Midwife  enters.  She  is  an  old  woman, 
white-haired  and  with  a  commanding,  somewhat  dis 
agreeable  expression  on  her  face.  She  wears  a  cloak 
and  black  Welsh  beaver  and  walks  with  a  stick. 
NELI 

Yiss,  yiss,  Mrs.  Jenkins  the  Midwife,  I  am  just 
lookin'  out  a  relish  for  the  Deacon.  Sit  down  by 
the  fire,  please. 


56 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (seating  herself  on  other 

side  of  fire) 

Aye,  mum,  I've  come  for  pins;    I'm  in  no  haste, 

mum. 
NELI 

Is  it  Jane  Elin's  baby? 

MRS.   JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE 

Aye,  Jane  Elin's,  an*  Jt  is  my  sixth  hundredth  birth. 
HUGH 

We're  discussing  the  place  of  hell,  Mrs.  Jenkins, 
mum. 

MRS.   JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE 

Well,  indeed,  I  have  seen  the  place  of  hell  six  hundred 
times  then.  (Coughs  and  nods  her  head  up  and  down 
over  stick)  Heaven  an'  hell  I'm  thinkin'  we  have 
with  us  here. 

HUGH 

Nay,  nay,  how  could  that  be?    Tell  us  where  is  the 

place  of  hell,  Deacon  Roberts. 

^All  listen  with  the  most  intense  interest. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (nodding) 

Aye,  the  place  of  hell  —  (stopping  suddenly,  a  terri 
fied  look  on  his  face,  as  the  butter  slides  against  the 
forward  rim  of  his  hat,  almost  knocking  it  off,  then 
going  on  with  neck  rigid  and  head  straight  up)  to  me 
is  known  where  is  that  place  —  their  way  is  dark  an* 
slippery;  they  go  down  into  the  depths,  an'  their 
soul  is  melted  because  of  trouble. 

NELI  (pausing  sceptically) 

Aye,  't  is  my  idea  of  hell  whatever  with  souls  meltin', 
Mr.  Roberts! 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT 57 

HUGH  (tense  with  expectation) 

Tell  us  where  is  that  place! 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (neck  rigid,  head  unmoved  and  voice 

querulous) 

Yiss,  yiss.     (Putting  his  hand  up  and  letting  it  down 

quickly)     Ahem!    Ye  believe  that  it  rains  in  Bala? 
HUGH  (eyes  on  Deacon  in  childlike  faith) 

I  do. 

MRS.   JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE 

Yiss,  yiss,  before  an'  after  every  birth  whatever! 

MRS.   JONES  THE  WASH 

Yiss,  yiss,  who  would  know  better  than  I  that  it 
rains  in  Bala? 

TOM  MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Aye,  amen,  it  rains  in  Bala  upon  the  hills  an*  in  the 
valleys. 

DEACON  ROBERTS 

Ye  believe  that  it  can  rain  in  Bala  both  when  the 

moon  is  full  an*  when  5t  is  new? 
HUGH  (earnestly) 

I  do. 
MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (wearily) 

Yiss,  any  time. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE   SHEEP 

Aye,  all  the  time. 

MRS.   JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE 

Yiss,  yiss,  it  rains  ever  an'  forever! 
NELI  (forgetting  the  relish  search) 

Well,  indeed,  't  is  true  it  can  rain  in  Bala  at  any 

time  an*  at  all  times. 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (paying  no  attention  to  Neli) 

Ye  believe  that  Tomen-y-Bala  is  Ararat? 


58 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

HUGH  (clutching  his  book  more  tightly  and  speaking  in  a 
whisper) 

Yiss. 

MRS.   JONES  THE   WASH 

Aye,  't  is  true. 

MRS.   JENKINS   THE   MIDWIFE 

Yiss,  the  Hill  of  Bala  is  Ararat. 

TOM   MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Yiss,  I  have  driven  the  sheep  over  it  whatever  more 

than  a  hundred  times. 
NELI  (both  hands  on  counter,  leaning  forward,  listening 

to  Deacon9 s  words) 

Aye,  Charles-y-Bala  said  so. 
DEACON  ROBERTS  (still  ignoring  Neli  and  lowering  his 

coat  tails  carefully) 

Ye  believe,   good  people,   that  the  Druids   called 

Noah  "Tegid,"  an'  that  those  who  were  saved  were 

cast  up  on  Tomen-y-Bala? 
HUGH 

Amen,  I  do ! 
MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (nodding  her  old  head) 

Aye,  't  is  true. 

MRS.   JONES   THE   WASH 

Yiss,  yiss. 

TOM  MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Amen,  't  is  so. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (moving  a  few  steps  away  from  the 
fire,  standing  sidewise,  and  lifting  hand  to  head, 
checking  it  in  midair) 

An'  ye  know  that  Bala  has  been  a  lake,  an'  Bala 
will  become  a  lake? 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  59 

HUGH 

Amen,  I  do ! 

NELI  (assenting  for  the  first  time) 
Yiss,  't  is  true  —  that  is. 

MRS.   JONES   THE   WASH 

Dear  anwyl,  yiss! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (wth  warning  gesture  towards  window) 
Hell  is  out  there  —  movin'  beneath  Bala  Lake  to 
meet  all  at  their  comin'.  (Raises  his  voice  suddenly) 
Red-hot  Baal  stones  will  fall  upon  your  heads  — 
Baal  stones.  Howl  ye!  (Shouting  loudly)  Meltin' 
stones  smellin'  of  the  bullocks.  Howl,  ye  sinners! 
(Clasping  his  hands  together  desperately)  Scorchin' 
hot  —  Oo  —  o  —  o  —  Howl  ye!  —  howl  ye! 
(The  Deacon's  hat  sways,  and  he  jams  it  down  more 
tightly  on  his  head.  Unclasping  his  hands  and  as  if 
stirring  up  the  contents  of  a  pudding  dish)  'Round 
an'  round  like  this!  Howl,  ye  sinners,  howl! 
\_All  moan  and  sway  to  and  fro  except  Neli. 

NELI  (sceptically) 

What  is  there  to  fear? 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (groaning) 
Nay,  but  what  is  there  not  to  fear? 

MRS.   JONES  THE   WASH 

Aye,  outermost  darkness.    Och!    Och! 

TOM   MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Have  mercy ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (shouting  again) 

Get  ready!    Lift  up  your  eyes !    (Welsh  beaver  almost 
falls  off  and  is  set  straight  in  a  twinkling)     Beg  for 


60 THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

mercy  before  the  stones  of  darkness  burn  thee,  an* 
there  is  no  water  to  cool  thy  tongue,  an*  a  great 
gulf  is  fixed  between  thee  an'  those  who  might 
help  thee! 

NELI   (spellbound  by  the  Deacon's  eloquence  and  now 
oblivious  to  hat,  etc.) 
Yiss,  yiss,  't  is  true,  't  is  very  true! 
[She  steps  down  from  chair  and  places  hands  on 
counter. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (his  face  convulsed,  shouting  directly 
at  her) 
Sister,  hast  thou  two  eyes  to  be  cast  into  hell  fire? 

NELI  (terrified  and  swept  along  by  his  eloquence) 
Two  eyes  to  be  burned? 

[All  lower  their  heads,  groaning  and  rocking  to  and 
fro. 

DEACON  ROBERTS   (the  butter  trickling  down  his  face, 

yelling  with  sudden  violence) 

Hell  is  here  an'  now.    Here  in  Bala,  here  in  Y  Gegin, 

here  with  us!    Howl  ye!    Howl,  ye  sinners! 

[All  moan  together. 
HUGH  (whispering) 

Uch,  here! 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE 

Yiss,  here! 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH 

Yiss. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP  (terrified) 
Aye.    Amen!    Yiss! 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT 61 

NELI  (whispering)  '3  i 
Here  in  Y  Gegin! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (clapping  his  hands  to  his  face) 

Stones  of  Baal,  stones  of  darkness,  slimy  with  ooze, 
red-hot  ooze,  thick  vapors!  Howl  ye,  howl,  ye  sin 
ners! 

(All  moan  and  groan.  Takes  a  glance  at  clock,  passes 
hand  over  face  and  runs  on  madly,  neck  rigid,  eyes 
staring,  fat  red  cheeks  turning  to  purple) 
Midday,  not  midnight,  is  the  hour  of  hell;  its  sun 
never  sets!  But  who  knows  when  comes  that  hour 
of  Hell? 

NELI  (taking  hands  from  counter  and  crossing  them  as 
she  whispers) 
Who  knows? 

ALL  (groaning) 
Who  knows? 

HUGH  (voice  quavering  and  lifting  his  Welsh  essays) 
Who  knows? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (big  yellow  drops  pouring  down  his 
face,  his  voice  full  of  anguish) 

I  will  tell  ye  when  is  the  hour  of  Hell.  (He  points  to 
the  clock)  Is  one  the  hour  of  Hell?  Nay.  Two? 
Nay.  Three?  No,  not  three.  Four?  Four  might 
be  the  hour  of  Hell,  but  't  is  not.  Five?  Nor  five, 
indeed.  Six?  Nay.  Seven?  Is  seven  the  hour,  the 
awful  hour?  Nay,  not  yet.  Eight?  Is  eight  the 
hour  —  an  hour  bright  as  this  bright  hour?  Nay, 
eight  is  not.  (The  Deacon  shouts  in  a  mighty  voice 
and  points  with  a  red  finger  at  the  clock)  'T  is  comin'! 
T  is  comin',  I  say!  Howl  ye,  howl!  Only  one  min- 


62  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

ute  more!  Sinners,  sinners,  lift  up  your  eyes!  Cry 
for  mercy!  (All  groan)  Cry  for  mercy!  When  the 
clock  strikes  twelve,  't  will  be  the  hour  of  Hell! 
Fix  your  eyes  upon  the  clock!  Watch!  Count! 
Listen!  JT  is  strikin'.  The  stroke!  The  hour  is 
here! 

[All  dropped  on  their  knees  and  turned  towards  the 
clock,  their  backs  to  the  street  door,  are  awaiting  the 
awful  stroke.  The  book  has  fallen  from  Hugh's  hands. 
Neli's  hands  are  clenched.  Mrs.  Jenkins  the  Midwife 
is  nodding  her  old  head.  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash,  on  her 
knees,  her  face  upturned  to  the  clock,  is  rubbing  up  and 
down  her  thighs  as  if  at  the  business  of  washing.  Tom 
Morris  the  Sheep  is  prostrate  and  making  a  strange 
buzzing  sound  between  his  lips.  The  wheels  of  the 
clever  old  timepiece  whir  and  turn.  Then  in  the  silent 
noonday  the  harsh  striking  begins:  One,  Two,  Three, 
Four,  Five,  Six,  Seven,  Eight,  Nine,  Ten,  Eleven, 
Twelve. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (yelling  suddenly  in  a  loud  and  terrible 
voice) 

Hell  let  loose!  Howl  ye!  Howl,  ye  sinners!  (All 
cover  their  eyes.  All  groan  or  moan.  The  clock  ticks, 
the  flame  in  the  grate  flutters,  Neli's  bosom  rises  and 
falls  heavily)  Lest  worse  happen  to  ye,  sin  no  more! 
[The  Deacon  looks  at  them  all  quietly.  Then  he  lifts 
his  hands  in  sign  of  blessing,  smiles  and  vanishes 
silently  through  street  door.  All  remain  stationary  in 
their  terror.  Nothing  happens.  But  at  last  Neli 
fearfully,  still  spellbound  by  the  Deacon's  eloquence,' 
lifts  her  eyes  to  the  clock.  Then  cautiously  she  turns  a 
little  towards  the  fire  and  the  place  of  Deacon  Roberts. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  63 

NELI 

Uch!     (She  stands  on  her  feet  and  cries  out)    The 
Deacon  is  gone! 

HUGH  (raising  his  eyes) 
Uch,  what  is  it?    Babylon  — 

NELI 

Babylon  nothing! 
[She  wrings  her  hands. 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (groaning) 
Is  he  dead?    Is  he  dead? 

NELI  (with  sudden  plunge  towards  the  door) 

Uch,  ye  old  hypocrite,  ye  villain!    Uch,  my  butter 

an'  my  eggs,  my  butter  an'  my  eggs! 

\_Neli  throws  open  the  door  and  slams  it  to  after  her  as 

she  pursues  the  Deacon  out  into  the  bright  midday 

sunshine. 

MRS.   JENKINS   THE   MIDWIFE 

Well,  indeed,  what  is  it?    Has  she  been  taken? 
MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (getting  up  heavily) 

Such  movin'  eloquence!    A  saintly  man  is  Deacon 
Roberts! 

TOM  MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Aye,  a  saintly  man  is  Deacon  Roberts! 
HUGH  (picking  up  his  book  and  speaking  slowly) 

Aye,  eloquence  that  knoweth  the  place  of  Hell  even 

better  than  it  knoweth  Bala  whatever! 
MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (very  businesslike) 

Aye,  't  was  a  treat —   a  rare  treat!    But  where's 

my  pins  now? 


64  THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (very  businesslike) 

Yiss,  yiss,  't  was  a  grand  an'  fine  treat.    But  I'm 
wantin'  my  soap  now. 

TOM  MORRIS   THE   SHEEP 

Have  ye  any  tobacco,  Hughie  lad? 

CURTAIN 


WELSH  HONEYMOON 


CHARACTERS 

VAVASOUR  JONES 

CATHERINE  JONES,  his  wife 

EILJR  MORRIS,  nephew  of  Vavasour  Jones 

MRS.  MORGAN,  the  baker 

HOWELL  HOWELL,  the  milliner 


WELSH  HONEYMOON 

PLACE:  Beddgelert,  a  little  village  in  North  Wales. 

A  Welsh  kitchen.  At  back,  in  center,  a  deep  ingle, 
with  two  hobs  and  fire  bars  fixed  between,  on  either  side 
settles.  On  the  left-hand  side  near  the  fire  a  church;  on 
the  right,  in  a  pile,  some  peat  ready  for  use.  Above  the 
fireplace  is  a  mantel  on  which  are  set  some  brass  candle 
sticks,  a  deep  copper  cheese  bowl,  and  two  pewter  plates. 
Near  the  left  settle  is  a  three-legged  table  set  with  teapot, 
cups  and  saucers  for  two,  a  plate  of  bread  and  butter,  a 
plate  of  jam,  and  a  creamer.  At  the  right  and  to  the  right 
of  the  door,  is  a  tall,  highly  polished,  oaken  grandfathers 
clock,  with  a  shining  brass  face;  to  the  left  of  the  door  is  a 
tridarn.  The  tridarn  dresser  is  lined  with  bright  blue 
paper  and  filled  with  luster  china.  The  floor  is  of  beaten 
clay,  whitewashed  around  the  edges;  from  the  rafters  of 
the  peaked  ceiling  hang  flitches  of  bacon,  hams,  and 
bunches  of  onions  and  herbs.  On  the  hearth  is  a  copper 
kettle  singing  gaily;  and  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace 
are  latticed  windows  opening  into  the  kitchen.  Through 
the  door  to  the  right,  when  open,  may  be  seen  the  flagstones 
and  cottages  of  a  Welsh  village  street;  through  latticed 
windows  the  twinkling  of  many  village  lights. 

It  is  about  half  after  eleven  on  Allhallows  Eve  in  the 
village  of  Beddgelert. 

At  rise  of  curtain,  the  windows  of  kitchen  are  closed; 
the  fire  is  burning  brightly,  and  two  candles  are  lighted 
on  the  mantelpiece.  Vavasour  Jones,  about  thirty-five 


70 WELSH  HONEYMOON 

years  old,  dressed  in  a  striped  vest,  a  short,  heavy  blue 
coat,  cut  away  in  front,  and  with  swallowtails  behind,  and 
trimmed  with  brass  buttons,  and  somewhat  tight  trousers 
down  to  his  boot  tops,  is  standing  by  the  open  door  at  the 
right,  looking  out  anxiously  onto  the  glittering,  rain-wet 
flagstone  street  and  calling  after  some  one. 

VAVASOUR1  (calling) 

Kats,  Kats,  mind  ye  come  home  soon  from  Pally 

Hughes's ! 
CATHERINE  (from  a  distance) 

Aye,  I'm  no  wantin'  to  go,  but  I  must.    Good-by! 

VAVASOUR 

Good-by!  Kats,  ye  mind  about  comin'  home? 
(There  is  no  reply,  and  Vavasour  looks  still  further 
into  the  rain-wet  street.  He  calls  loudly  and  desper 
ately)  Kats,  Kats  darlin',  I  cannot  let  you  go  with 
out  tellin'  ye  that  —  Kats,  do  ye  hear? 
£  There  is  still  no  reply  and  after  one  more  searching  of 
the  street,  Vavasour  closes  the  door  and  sits  down  on 
the  end  of  the  nearest  settle. 

VAVASOUR 

Dear,  dear,  she's  gone,  an'  I  may  never  see  her 
again,  an'  I'm  to  blame,  an'  she  didn't  know  what 
ever  that  in  the  night  —  (Loud  knocking  on  the  closed 
door;     Vavasour  jumps  and  stands  irresolute)     The 
devil,  it  can't  be  comin'  for  her  already? 
[The  knocking  grows  louder. 
VOICE  (calling) 

Catherine,  Vavasour,  are  ye  in? 

1  The  a's  are  broad  throughout,  i.  e.  Kats  is  pronounced  Kaats; 
Vavasour  is  Vavasoor:  ou  is  oo. 


WELSH  HONEYMOON 71 

VAVASOUR  (opening  the  door) 
Aye,  come  in,  whoever  ye  are. 

[Mrs.  Morgan  the  Baker,  dressed  in  a  scarlet  whittle 
and  freshly  starched  white  cap  beneath  her  tall  Welsh 
beaver  hat,  enters,  shaking  the  rain  from  her  cloak. 

MRS.    MORGAN 

Where's  Catherine? 
VAVASOUR 

She's  gone,  Mrs.  Morgan. 

MRS.   MORGAN 

Gone?  Are  ye  no  goin' ?  Not  goin*  to  Pally  Hughes's 
on  Allhallows'  Eve? 

VAVASOUR  (shaking  his  head  and  looking  very  white) 
Nay,  I'm  no  feelin'  well. 

MRS.   MORGAN 

Aye,  I  see  ye're  ill? 
VAVASOUR 

Well,  I'm  not  ill,  but  I'm  not  well.  Not  well  at  all, 
Mrs.  Morgan. 

MRS.   MORGAN 

We'll  miss  ye,  but  I  must  hurry  in*  on  whatever; 
I'm  late  now.  Good  night! 

VAVASOUR  (speaking  drearily)  Good  night !  (He  closes 
the  door  and  returns  to  the  settle,  where  he  sits  down  by 
the  pile  of  peat  and  drops  his  head  in  his  hand.  Then 
he  starts  up  nervously  for  no  apparent  cause  and  opens 
one  of  the  lattice  windows.  With  an  exclamation  of 
fear,  he  slams  it  to  and  throws  his  weight  against  the 
door.  Calling  and  holding  hard  to  the  door)  Ye've 
no  cause  to  come  here!  Ye  old  death's  head,  get 
away! 
[Outside  there  is  loud  pounding  on  the  door  and  a  voice 


72 WELSH  HONEYMOON 

shouting  for  admittance.  Vavasour  is  obliged  to  fall 
back  as  the  door  is  gradually  forced  open,  and  a  head  is 
thrust  in,  a  white  handkerchief  tied  over  it. 

HOWELL  HOWELL    (seeing    the    terror-stricken   face    of 
Vavasour) 

Well,  man,  what  ails  ye;  did  ye  think  I  was  a  ghost? 
(Howell  Howell  the  Milliner,  in  highlows  and  a  plum- 
colored  coat,  a  handkerchief  on  his  hat,  enters,  stamping 
off  the  rain  and  closing  the  door.  He  carefully  wipes 
off  his  plum-colored  sleeves  and  speaks  indignantly) 
Well,  man,  are  ye  crazy,  keepin'  me  out  in  the  rain 
that  way?  Where's  Catherine? 

VAVASOUR  (stammering) 

She's  at  P-p-p-ally  Hughes's. 

HOWELL  HOWELL 

Are  ye  no  goin'? 

VAVASOUR 

Nay,  Howell  Howell,  I'm  no  goin'. 

HOWELL   HOWELL 

An'   dressed   in   your   best?     What's   the   matter? 
Have  ye  been  drinkin'  whatever? 
VAVASOUR  (wrathfully) 

Drinkin'!  I'd  better  be  drinkin'  when  neighbors  go 
walkin'  round  the  village  on  Allhallow's  Eve  with 
their  heads  done  up  in  white. 

HOWELL  HOWELL 

Aye,  well,  I  can't  be  spoilin*  the  new  hat  I  have,  that 

I  cannot.    A  finer  beaver  there  has  never  been  in  my 

shop. 

[He  takes  off  the  handkerchief,  hangs  it  where  the  heat 

of  the  fire  will  dry  it  a  bit,  and  then,  removing  the  beaver, 

shows  it  to  Vavasour,  turning  it  this  way  and  that. 


WELSH  HONEYMOON 73 

VAVASOUR  (absent-mindedly) 
Aye,  grand,  grand,  man! 

HOWELL  HOWELL 

What  are  ye  gazin'  at  the  clock  for? 
VAVASOUR  (guiltily) 

I'm  no  lookin'  at  anything. 

HOWELL  HOWELL 

Well,  indeed,  I  must  be  goin',  or  I  shall  be  late  at 
Pally  Hughes's.  Good  night. 

VAVASOUR 
Good  night. 

(He  closes  the  door  and  stands  before  the  clock,  study 
ing  it.  While  he  is  studying  its  face  the  door  opens 
slowly,  and  the  tumbled,  curly  head  of  a  lad  about 
eighteen  years  of  age  peers  in.  The  door  continues 
slowly  to  open.  Vavasour  unconscious  all  the  while) 
'Tis  ten  now.  Ten,  eleven,  twelve;  that's  three 
hours  left,  'tis;  nay,  nay,  'tis  only  two  hours  left, 
after  all,  an'  then  — 

EILIR  MORRIS  (bounding  in  and  shutting  the  door  behind 
him  with  a  bang) 
Boo !    Whoo  —  o  —  o ! 

VAVASOUR  (his  face  blanched,  dropping  limply  on  to  the 
settle) 
The  devil! 

EILIR  MORRIS  (troubled) 

Uch,  the  pity,  Uncle!    I  didn't  think,  an'  ye're  ill! 

VAVASOUR 

Tut,  tut,  'tis  no  matter,  an'  I'm  not  ill  —  not  ill  at 
all,  but  Eilir,  lad,  ye're  kin,  an'  —  could  ye  promise 
never  to  tell? 


74  WELSH  HONEYMOON 

EILIR  MORRIS  (who  thinks  his  uncle  has  been  drinking, 
speaks  to  him  as  if  he  would  humor  his  whim) 
Aye,  Uncle,  I'm  kin,  an'  I  promise.    Tell  on.    What 
is  it?    Are  ye  sick? 

VAVASOUR  (drearily) 
Uch,  lad,  I'm  not  sick! 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Well,  what  ails  ye? 

VAVASOUR 

Tis  Allhallow's  Eve  an'  — 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Aren't  ye  goin'  to  Pally  Hughes's? 

VAVASOUR  (moaning  and  rising) 

Ow,  the  devil,  goin'  to  Pally  Hughes's  while  'tis 
drawin'  nearer  an'  nearer  an'  —  Ow!  'Tis  the  night 
when  Catherine  must  go. 

EILIR   MORRIS 

When  Aunt  Kats  must  go!    What  do  you  mean? 
VAVASOUR 

She'll  be  dead  to-night  at  twelve. 

EILIR  MORRIS  (bewildered) 

Dead  at  twelve?    But  she's  at  Pally  Hughes's.    Does 

she  know  it? 
VAVASOUR 

No,  but  I  do,  an'  to  think  I've  been  unkind  to  her! 

I've  tried  this  year  to  make  up  for  it,  but  'tis  no 

use,  lad;   one  year '11  never  make  up  for  ten  of  harsh 

words,  whatever.    Ow! 

[Groaning,   Vavasour  collapses  on  to  the  settle  and 

rocks  to  and  fro,  moaning  aloud. 


WELSH  HONEYMOON  75 

EILIR  MORRIS  (mystified) 

Well,  ye've  not  been  good  to  her,  Uncle,  that's  cer 
tain;  but  ye've  been  different  the  past  year. 

VAVASOUR  (sobbing) 

Aye,  but  a  year'll  not  do  any  good,  an'  she'll  be  dyin' 
at  twelve  to-night.  Ow!  I've  turned  to  the  scrip 
tures  to  see  what  it  says  abous  a  man  an'  his  wife, 
but  it'll  no  do,  no  do,  no  do ! 

EILIR   MORRIS 

Have  ye  been  drinkin',  Uncle? 
VAVASOUR  (hotly) 
Drinkin'! 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Well,  indeed,  no  harm,  but,  Uncle,  I  cannot  under 
stand  why  Aunt  Kats's  goin'  an'  where. 
VAVASOUR  (rising  suddenly  from  the  settle  and  seizing 
Eilir  by  the  coat  lapel) 

She's  goin'  to  leave  me,  lad;  'tis  Allhallow's  Eve 
whatever!  An5  she'll  be  dyin'  at  twelve.  Aye,  a 
year  ago  things  were  so  bad  between  us,  on  All- 
hallow's  Eve  I  went  down  to  the  church  porch  shortly 
before  midnight  to  see  whether  the  spirit  of  your 
Aunt  Kats  would  be  called  an'  — 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Uncle,  'twas  fair  killin'  her! 

VAVASOUR 

I  wanted  to  see  whether  she  would  live  the  twelve 
months  out.  An'  as  I  was  leanin'  against  the  church 
wall,  hopin',  aye,  lad,  prayin'  to  see  her  spirit  there, 
an'  know  she'd  die,  I  saw  somethin'  comin*  'round 
the  corner  with  white  over  its  head. 


76  WELSH  HONEYMOON 

EILIR  MORRIS  (wailing) 
Ow — w! 

VAVASOUR 

It  drew  nearer  an'  nearer,  an'  when  it  came  in  full 
view  of  the   church  porch,   it  paused,   it  whirled 
around  like  that,  an'  sped  away  with  the  shroud 
flappin'  about  its  feet,  an'  the  rain  beatin'  down  on 
its  white  hood. 
EILIR  MORRIS  (wailing  again) 
Ow  —  w! 

VAVASOUR 

But  there  was  time  to  see  that  it  was  the  spirit  of 
Catherine,  an'  I  was  glad  because  my  wicked  prayer 
had   been   answered,    an5   because   with    Catherine 
dyin'  the  next  Allhallow's,  we'd  have  to  live  together 
only  the  year  out. 
EILIR  MORRIS  (raising  his  hand) 
Hush,  what's  that? 

VARASOUR 

'Tis  voices  whatever. 

[Both  listen,  Eilir  goes  to  the  window,  Vavasour  to  the 

door.    The  voices  become  louder. 

EILIR   MORRIS 

They're  singin'  a  song  at  Pally  Hughes's. 
(Voices  are  audibly  singing) 

Ni  awn  adre  bawb  dan  ganu, 

Ar  hyd  y  nos; 
Saif  ein  hiaith  safo  Cymru, 

Ar  hyd  y  nos; 

Bydded  undeb  a  brawdgarwch 
Ini'n  gwlwm  diogelwch, 


WELSH  HONEYMOON  77 

Felly  canwn  er  hyfrydwch, 
AT  hyd  y  nos. 

Sweetly  sang  beside  a  fountain, 

All  through  the  night, 
Mona's  maiden  on  that  mountain, 

All  through  the  night. 
When  wilt  thou,  from  war  returning, 
In  whose  breast  true  love  is  burning, 
Come  and  change  to  joy  my  mourning, 

By  day  and  night? 

VAVASOUR 

Aye,  they're  happy,  an'  Kats  does  not  know.  I 
went  home  that  night,  lad,  thinkin'  'twas  the  last 
year  we'd  have  to  live  together,  an',  considerin'  as 
'twas  the  last  year,  I  might  just  as  well  try  to  be 
decent  an'  kind.  An'  when  I  reached  home,  Cather 
ine  was  up  waitin'  for  me  an'  spoke  so  pleasantly,  an' 
we  sat  down  an'  had  a  long  talk  —  just  like  the 
days  when  we  were  courtin'. 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Did  she  know,  Uncle? 
VAVASOUR  (puzzled) 

Nay,  how  could  she  know.  But  she  seems  queer,  — 
as  if  she  felt  the  evil  comin'.  Well,  indeed,  each  day 
was  sweeter  than  the  one  before,  an'  we  were  man  an' 
wife  in  love  an'  kindness  at  last,  but  all  the  while  I 
was  thinkin'  of  that  figure  by  the  churchyard.  Lad, 
lad,  ye'll  be  marryin'  before  long,  —  be  good  to  her, 
lad,  be  good  to  her! 
[Vavasour  lets  go  the  lapels  of  Eilir's  coat  and  sinks 


78  WELSH  HONEYMOON 

back  on  to  the  settle,  half  sobbing.  Outside  the  roar  of 
wind  and  rain  growing  louder  can  be  heard. 

VAVASOUR  (looking  at  the  clock) 

An'  here  'tis  Allhallow's  Eve  again,  an*  the  best 
year  of  my  life  is  past,  an'  she  must  die  in  an  hour 
an*  a  half.  Ow,  ow!  It  has  all  come  from  my  own 
evil  heart  an*  evil  wish.  Think,  lad,  prayin'  for  her 
callin';  aye,  goin'  there,  hopin'  ye'd  see  her  spirit, 
an'  countin'  on  her  death! 

EILIR  MORRIS  (mournfully) 

Aye,  Uncle,  'tis  bad,  an'  I've  no  word  to  say  to  ye 
for  comfort.  I  recollect  well  the  story  Granny  used 
to  tell  about  Christmas  Pryce;  'twas  somethin'  the 
same  whatever.  An'  there  was  Betty  Williams  was 
called  a  year  ago,  an'  is  dead  now;  an'  there  was 
Silvan  Griffith,  an'  Geffery,  his  friend,  an'  Silvan 
had  just  time  to  dig  Geffery's  grave  an'  then  his  own, 
too,  by  its  side,  an'  they  was  buried  the  same  day  an' 
hour. 

VAVASOUR  (wailing) 
O  w  —  w  —  w ! 

[At  that  moment  the  door  is  blown  violently  open  by 
the  wind;  both  men  jump  and  stare  out  into  the  dark 
where  only  the  dimmed  lights  of  the  rain-swept  street 
are  to  be  seen,  and  the  very  bright  windows  of  Pally 
Hughes's  cottage. 

EILIR   MORRIS 

Uch,  she'll  be  taken  there! 

VAVASOUR 

Aye,  an',  Eilir,  she  was  loath  to  go  to  Tally's,  but  I 
could  not  tell  her  the  truth. 


WELSH  HONEYMOON  79 

EILIR   MORRIS 

Are  ye  not  goin',  Uncle? 

VAVASOUR 

Nay,  lad,  I  cannot  go.  I'm  fair  crazy.  I'll  just  be 
stay  in'  home,  waitin'  for  them  to  bring  her  back. 
Ow  —  w  —  w! 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Tut,  tut,  Uncle,  I'm  sorry.    I'll  just  see  for  ye  what 

they're  doin*. 

[Eilir  steps  out  and  is  gone  for  an  instant.    He  comes 

back  excitedly. 
VAVASOUR  (shouting  after  him) 

Can  ye  see  her,  lad? 
EILIR  MORRIS  (returning) 

Dear,  they've  a  grand  display,  raisins  an*  buns,  an' 

spices  an'  biscuits  — 
VAVASOUR 

But  your  Aunt  Kats? 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Aye,  an'  a  grand  fire,  an'  a  tub  with  apples  in  it  an*  — 
VAVASOUR 

But  Catherine? 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Aye,  she  was  there  near  the  fire,  an'  just  as  I  turned, 
they  blew  the  lights  out. 

VAVASOUR 

Blew  the  lights  out!  Uch,  she'll  be  taken  there 
whatever! 

EILIR  MORRIS 

They're  tellin'  stories  in  the  dark. 


80  WELSH  HONEYMOON 

VAVASOUR 

Go  back  again  an'  tell  what  ye  can  see  of  your  Aunt 
Kats,  lad. 

EILIR  MORRIS 

Aye. 
VAVASOUR  (shouting  after  him) 

Find  where  she's  sittin',  lad  —  make  certain  of  that. 
EILIR  MORRIS  (running  in  breathless) 

They're  throwin'  nuts  on  the  fire  — 

VAVASOUR 

Is  she  there? 

EILIR  MORRIS 

I'm  thinkin'  she  is,  but  old  Pally  Hughes  was  just 
throwin'  a  nut  on  the  fire  an'  — 
VAVASOUR  (impatiently) 

'Tis  no  matter  about  Pally  Hughes  whatever,  but 
your  Aunt  Kats,  did  — 

EILIR  MORRIS 

There  was  only  the  light  of  the  fire;  I  did  not  see  her, 

but  I'll  go  again. 
VAVASOUR 

Watch  for  her  nut  an'  see  does  it  burn  brightly. 
EILIR  MORRIS  (going  out) 

Aye. 
VAVASOUR  (calling  after) 

Mind,  I'm  wantin'  to  know  what  she's  doin*. 

[He  has  scarcely  spoken  the  last  word  when  a  great 

commotion  is  heard:  a  door  across  the  street  being 

slammed  to  violently,  and  the  sound  of  running  feet. 

Vavasour  straightens  up,  his  eyes  in  terror  on  the  door, 

which  Catherine  Jones  throws  open  and  bursts  through. 


WELSH  HONEYMOON  81 

VAVASOUR  (holding  out  his  arms) 
Catherine,  is  it  really  ye! 

[Catherine,  after  a  searching  glance  at  him,  draws 
herself  up.  Vavasour  draws  himself  up,  too,  and  then 
stoops  to  pick  up  some  peat  which  he  puts  on  the  fire, 
and  crosses  over  to  left  and  sits  down  on  the  settle  near 
the  chimney,  without  having  embraced  her.  Catherine's 
face  is  flushed,  her  eyes  wild  under  the  pretty  white 
cap  she  wears,  a  black  Welsh  beaver  above  it.  She  is 
dressed  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  under  this  a  tight  bodice  and 
short,  full  skirt,  bright  stockings,  and  clogs  with  brass 
tips.  Her  apron  is  of  heavy  linen,  striped;  over  her 
breast  a  kerchief  is  crossed,  and  from  the  elbows  down 
to  the  wrist  are  full  white  sleeves  stiffly  starched. 

CATHERINE 

Yiss,  yiss,  'twas  dull  at  Tally's  —  very  dull.  My  nut 
didn't  burn  very  brightly,  an'  —  an'  —  well,  indeed, 
my  feet  was  wet,  an'  I  feared  takin'  a  cold. 

VAVASOUR 

Yiss,  yiss,  'tis  better  for  ye  here,  dearie. 
[Then  there  is  silence  between  them.  Catherine  still 
breathes  heavily  from  the  running,  and  Vavasour 
shuffles  his  feet.  While  they  are  both  sitting  there, 
unable  to  say  a  word,  the  door  opens  without  a  sound, 
and  Eilir's  curly  head  is  thrust  in.  A  guttural  excla 
mation  from  him  makes  them  start  and  look  towards 
the  door,  but  he  closes  it  before  they  can  see  him.  Cath 
erine  then  takes  off  her  beaver  and  looks  at  Vavasour. 
Vavasour  opens  his  mouth,  shuts  it,  and  opens  it 
again. 

VAVASOUR  (desperately) 

Did  ye  have  a  fine  time  at  Pally 's? 


82  WELSH  HONEYMOON 

CATHERINE  i 

Aye,  'twas  gay  an'  fine  an'  —  an'  —  yiss,  yiss,  so 

'twas  an'  so  'twasn't. 
VAVASOUR  (his  eyes  seeking  the  clock) 

A  quarter  past  eleven,  uch!     Katy,  do  ye  recall 

Pastor  Evan's  sermon,  the  one  he  preached  last 

New  Year? 
CATHERINE  (also  glancing  at  the  clock) 

Sixteen  minutes  after  eleven  —  yiss  —  yiss  — 
VAVASOUR  (catching  Catherine's  glance  at  the  clock) 

Well,  Catherine,  do  — 

CATHERINE 

Yiss,  yiss,  I  said  I  did  whatever.     'Twas  about 

inheritin'  the  grace  of  life  together. 
VAVASOUR 

Kats,  dear,  wasn't  he  sayin'  that  love  is  eternal,  an' 

that  —  a  man  —  an'  —  an*  —  his  wife  was  lovin'  for 

—  for  — 
CATHERINE  (glancing  at  the  clock  and  meeting  Vavasour's 

eyes  just  glancing  away  from  the  clock) 

Aye,  lad,  for  everlastin'  life!     Uch,  what  have  I 

done? 
VAVASOUR  (unheeding  and  doubling  up  as  if  from  pain) 

Half  after  eleven!     Yiss,  yiss,  dear,  didn't  he  say 

that  the  Lord  was  mindful  of  us  —  of  our  difficulties, 

an'  our  temptations  an'  our  mistakes? 
CATHERINE  (tragically) 

Aye,  an'  our  mistakes.     Ow,  ow,  ow,  but  a  half 

hour's  left! 
VAVASOUR 

Do  ye  think,  dearie,  that  if  a  man  were  to  —  to  — 


WELSH  HONEYMOON  83 

uch !  —  be  unkind  to  his  wife  —  an*  was  sorry  an' 

his  wife  —  his  wife  dies,  that  he'd  be  —  be  — 
CATHERINE  (tenderly) 

Aye,  I'm  thinkin'  so.    An',  lad  dear,  do  ye  think  if 

anythin'  was  to  happen  to  ye  to-night,  —  yiss,  this 

night,  —  that  ye'd  take  any  grudge  against  me  away 

with  ye? 
VAVASOUR  (stiffening) 

Happen  to  me,  Catherine? 

[Vavasour  collapses,  groaning.     Catherine  goes  to  his 

side  on  the  settle. 
CATHERINE  (in  an  agonized  voice) 

Uch,  dearie,  what  is  it,  what  is  it,  what  ails  ye? 
VAVASOUR  (slanting  an  eye  at  the  clock) 

Nothin',  nothin'  at  all.     Ow,  the  devil,  'tis  twenty 

minutes  before  twelve  whatever! 

CATHERINE 

Lad,  lad,  what  is  it? 

VAVASOUR 

'Tis  nothin',  nothin'  at  all  —  'tis  —  ow !  —  'tis  just 

a  little  pain  across  me. 
CATHERINE  (her  face  whitening  as  she  steals  a  look  at  the 

clock  and  puts  her  arm  around  Vavasour) 

Vavasour,  lad  dear,  is  that  the  wind  in  the  chimney? 

Put  your  arm  about  me  an'  hold  fast. 
VAVASOUR  (both  hands  across  his  stomachy  his  eyes  on 

the  clock) 

Ow  —  ten  minutes! 
CATHERINE  (shaking  all  over) 

Is  that  a  step  at  the  door? 
VAVASOUR  (unheeding) 

'Tis  goin'  to  strike  now  in  a  minute. 


84 WELSH  HONEYMOON 

CATHERINE  (her  eyes  in  horror  on  the  clock) 
Five  minutes  before  twelve! 

VAVASOUR  (almost  crying,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  clock's 
face) 
Uch,  the  toad,  the  serpent! 

CATHERINE  (her  face  in  her  hands) 
Dear  God,  he's  goin'  now! 

VAVASOUR  (covering  his  eyes) 

Uch,  the  devil!  Uch,  the  gates  of  hell! 
^Catherine  cries  out,  Vavasour  groans  loudly.  The 
clock  is  striking:  One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five,  Six, 
Seven,  Eight,  Nine,  Ten,  Eleven,  Twelve!  The  last 
loud  clang  vibrates  and  subsides.  Through  a  chink  in 
her  fingers  Catherine  is  peering  at  Vavasour.  Through 
a  similar  chink  his  agonized  eyes  are  peering  at  her. 

CATHERINE  (gulping) 
Uch! 

VAVASOUR 

The  devil! 

CATHERINE  (putting  out  her  hand  to  touch  him) 
Lad,  dear! 

\_They  embrace,  they  kiss,  they  dance  madly  about. 
Then  they  do  it  all  over  again.  While  they  are  doing 
this,  Eilir  opens  the  door  again  and  thrusts  in  his 
head.  He  stares  open-eyed,  open-mouthed  at  them,  and 
leans  around  the  side  of  the  door  to  see  what  time  it  is, 
saying  audibly  "five  minutes  past  twelve"  grunts  his 
satisfaction,  and  closes  the  door. 

VAVASOUR  (mad  with  joy) 

Kats,  are  ye  here,  really  here? 

CATHERINE  (surprised) 
Am  /  here?    Tut,  lad,  are  ye  here? 


WELSH  HONEYMOON  85 

VAVASOUR  (shrewdly) 

Yiss,  that  is  are  we  both  here? 
CATHERINE  (perplexed) 

Did  ye  think  I  wasn't  goin'  to  be? 
VAVASOUR  (suppressed  intelligent  joy  in  his  eyes) 

No  —  o,  not  that,  only  I  thought,  I  thought  ye  was 

goin*  to  —  to  —  to  faint,  Kats.    I  thought  ye  looked 

like  it,  Kats. 
CATHERINE  (the  happiness  on  her  face  vanishing,  sinks 

on  to  the  nearest  settle) 

Uch,  I'm  a  bad,  bad  woman,  aye,  Vavasour  Jones,  a 

bad  woman! 
VAVASOUR  (puzzled,  yet  lightly) 

Nay,  Kats,  nay! 
CATHERINE  (desperately  and  almost  in  tears) 

Ye  cannot  believe  what  I  must  tell  ye.    Lad,  a  year 

ago  this  night  I  went  to  the  church  porch,  hopin',  aye, 

prayin',  ye'd  be  called,  that  I'd  see  your  spirit  walkin'. 
VAVASOUR  (starting  and  recovering  himself) 

Catherine,  ye  did  that! 
CATHERINE  (plunging  on  with  her  confession) 

Aye,  lad,  I  did,  I'd  been  so  unhappy  with  the  quar- 

relin'  an'  hard  words.     I  could  think  of  nothin'  but 

gettin'  rid  of  them. 
VAVASOUR  (in  a  tone  of  condemnation  and  standing  over 

her) 

That  was  bad,  very  bad  indeed! 

CATHERINE 

An*  then,  lad,  when  I  reached  the  church  corner  an' 
saw  your  spirit  was  really  there,  really  called,  an'  I 
knew  ye'd  not  live  the  year  out,  I  was  frightened, 
but  uch!  lad,  I  was  glad,  I  was  indeed. 


86  WELSH  HONEYMOON 

VAVASOUR  (looking  grave) 

Catherine,  'twas  a  terrible  thing  to  do! 

CATHERINE  (meekly) 

Yiss,  I  know  it  now,  but  I  didn't  then.  I  was  hard 
hearted,  an'  I  was  weak  with  longin'  to  escape  from 
it  all.  An'  when  I  ran  home  I  was  frightened,  but 
uch!  lad,  I  was  glad,  too,  an'  now  it  hurts  me  so  to 
think  of  it.  Can  you  no  comfort  me? 

VAVASOUR  (grudgingly,  but  not  touching  Catherine9 s  out 
stretched  hand) 

Aye,  well,  I  could,  but  Kats,  'twas  such  a  terrible 
thing  to  do! 

CATHERINE 

Yiss,  yiss,  ye'll  never  be  able  to  forgive  me,  I'm 
thinkin'.  An'  then  when  ye  came  in  from  the  lodge, 
ye  spoke  so  pleasantly  to  me  that  I  was  troubled. 
An*  now  the  year  through  it  has  grown  better  an' 
better,  an'  I  could  think  of  nothin'  but  lovin'  ye, 
an'  wishin'  ye  to  live,  an'  knowin'  I  was  the  cause  of 
your  bein*  called.  Uch,  lad,  can  ye  forgive  me? 

VAVASOUR  (slowly) 

Aye,  I  can,  none  of  us  is  without  sin;  but,  Catherine, 
it  was  wrong,  aye,  aye,  'twas  a  wicked  thing  for  a 
woman  to  do. 

CATHERINE  (still  more  meekly) 

An'  then  to-night,  lad,  I  was  expectin*  ye  to  go, 
knowin'  ye  couldn't  live  after  twelve,  an'  ye  sittin' 
there  so  innocent  an'  mournful.  An'  when  the  time 
came,  I  wanted  to  die  myself.  Uch! 

VAVASOUR  (sitting  down  beside  her  and  putting  an  arm 
about  her  as  he  speaks  in  a  superior  tone  of  voice) 
No  matter,  dearie,  now.     It  was  wrong  in  ye,  but 


WELSH  HONEYMOON  87 

we're  still  here,  an'  it's  been  a  sweet  year,  yiss,  better 
nor  a  honeymoon,  an'  all  the  years  after  we'll  make 
better  nor  this.  There,  there,  Kats,  let's  have  a  bit 
of  a  wassail  to  celebrate  our  Allhallow's  honeymoon, 
shall  we? 

CATHERINE  (starting  to  fetch  a  bowl) 

Yiss,  lad,  'twould  be  fine,  but  Vavasour,  can  ye 
forgive  me,  think,  lad,  for  hopin',  aye,  an'  prayin'  to 
see  your  spirit  called,  just  wishin*  that  ye'd  not  live 
the  year  out? 

VAVASOUR  (with  condescension} 

Kats,  I  can,  an'  I'm  not  layin'  it  up  against  ye, 
though  'twas  a  wicked  thing  for  ye  to  do  —  for  any 
one  to  do.  Now,  darlin',  fetch  the  bowl. 

CATHERINE  (starting  for  the  bowl  again  but  turning  on 
him) 

Vavasour,  how  does  it  happen  that  the  callin'  is  set 
aside,  an'  that  ye're  really  here?  Such  a  thing  has 
not  been  in  Beddgelert  in  the  memory  of  man. 

VAVASOUR  (with  dignity) 

I'm  not  sayin'  how  it's  happened,  Kats,  but  I'm 
thinkin'  'tis  modern  times  whatever,  an'  things  have 
changed  —  aye,  indeed,  'tis  modern  times. 

CATHERINE  (sighing  contentedly) 

Good!    Tis  lucky  'tis  modern  tunes  whatever! 

CURTAIN 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


LD21-20m-5,'39  (9269s) 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


